Off the Beaten Path
by Rae Roberts
Summary: Remus Lupin:OFC AU. A happy ending for Remus and Miranda can be found in chapter 19. The rest of the story is unfinished with no plans for completion.
1. Introduction

Disclaimer: I don't claim to own any copyrighted material.

This story is set in Harry Potter's sixth year, after Order of the Phoenix. As of the publication of Half-Blood Prince, it is not canon-compliant. In gratitude to the readers who stuck with me through two revisions, I have finished up the plotline involving Remus Lupin and Miranda Prosper. You can find their happy ending in chapter 19. The remainder of the narrative is unfinsihed and will remain unfinished... Because I have no longer have any interest in finishing it! Thank you for your understanding.

* * *

_Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London, Monday, July 15, 1997_

Remus Lupin tiptoed down the stairs, easing his suitcase and overnight bag around the carved newel post with care not to create any noise. Having made it to the kitchen without waking the portrait of Mrs. Black, he allowed himself a sigh of relief before greeting Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley. "Ugh, zat 'orrible old woman," Fleur complained. "It would be pleasant enough, living 'ere, if not for 'er!"

Remus gave her a sympathetic smile. "You'll get used to her after a while, Fleur." Since they both worked nearby at Gringotts, Bill and Fleur had been the logical choice to replace him as caretakers of Grimmauld place. In separate bedrooms, of course. Remus chuckled inwardly as he fixed himself some breakfast. He doubted very much that Fleur had spent a single night in her own room since moving in. He wondered how Molly Weasley could fool herself into thinking her oldest son was celibate... perhaps she was just happier pretending not to know. "Here comes Tonks," he warned the young couple.

Bill looked up sharply, straining to hear the footsteps Remus had noticed the moment they'd turned into the front yard. Sure enough, they could just catch the faint sound of the front door being eased open. "Maybe she'll make it this time," Bill whispered. Stealthy footsteps tiptoed closer to the kitchen and safety, then abruptly ended with a loud crash.

"Blood traitor! Filth!" the portrait began to shriek.

Tonks ran the rest of the length of the hall and slammed the kitchen door behind her, shutting out most of the racket. "Who moved the umbrella stand again?" she asked grumpily. The other three mages just looked at one another, trying not to laugh. "Wotcher, Remus, ready to go?" Tonks grinned, regaining her usual cheer.

"Ready when you are," he told her, indicating his suitcases.

"What about the... you-know-whats?" she asked conspiratorially.

"The Wolfsbane potions? Well hidden," Remus said proudly.

Tonks looked skeptical. "You're sure? You have to pass through Muggle Customs in New York," she reminded him. "I'd better check..." Effortlessly, she levitated the battered suitcase onto the table and began to examine it.

Remus stifled a flash of envy. Since his duel with Bellatrix Lestrange almost two months ago, he'd been unable to cast even the simplest spell. The loss of his magic was the main reason he was leaving the Order of the Phoenix and taking this trip to the United States. He pushed the despair away, as he'd done countless times since waking up in St. Mungo's. "You won't be able to find the potions," he smirked at Tonks. He'd bought the suitcase at a Muggle second-hand store; there was nothing magical about it. Like most of his belongings, it had seen better days. The lining was torn, which had suited his purposes perfectly. His supply of the Wolfsbane potion was hidden under it, wrapped in rags to cushion the bottles, which were secured to the side of the suitcase with spellotape.

The young auror shook her head. "Nice try, Remus, but you forgot, the Muggles have x-ray machines. They can see through the side of your suitcase as easily as Mad-Eye could with his magical eye," she explained.

Remus felt deflated. "I should have thought of that," he said ruefully.

"Ah, don't worry. They're dead tricky with their technology... but once you're away from the airport, you'll be fine," Tonks assured him as she pulled out the potions he'd so carefully concealed, tearing the lining even more in the process. "Oops, sorry 'bout that." She waved her wand again and Remus' tidy stacks of clean clothing rumpled themselves. The potions lying among them disappeared. "That ought to do," she said with satisfaction. "Illusion plus a touch of 'you really can't be bothered to look too close'," she said with pride. A moment later, her face fell. "I mean... um. Well, it was nothing much, really. Um, let's get you to the airport!" she blurted.

"Thanks, Tonks. It's all right," Remus reassured her. Everyone was touchy about the subject of magic when he was around. He could sense Tonks' embarrassment for having mentioned it, the pity she felt towards him. _I wish they'd all just get over it. After all, I have,_ he thought, knowing it to be a lie. He turned to Bill and Fleur, giving Tonks a moment to recover from her imagined faux pas. "You two take care now."

After goodbyes had been said, he and Tonks took a portkey to Heathrow Airport. They made it into the terminal and through baggage check-in without too much difficulty. _As long as you don't consider Tonks getting her heel caught in the escalator a difficulty, _Remus thought as he waited for her outside the ladies room where she'd gone to repair the damage to her shoe. _Actually, with Tonks, that sort of thing is just an everyday occurrence._

"Your flight has been delayed," the witch announced once she'd rejoined him, scanning a bank of flickering monitors. "Typical. Let's find someplace to have a slow comfortable screw," she said casually.

Remus nearly choked. "I- I beg your pardon?"

Tonks burst out laughing. "Ha, you should see your face! A slow comfortable screw," she informed him gleefully, "is the name of a Muggle cocktail. We could also have a screaming orgasm, sex on the beach, or a slow comfortable screw up against the wall."

"I can't believe Sirius didn't know about those drinks," Remus said once they'd taken seats in the airport bar. Much to his embarrassment, Tonks had ordered suggestively-named cocktails for both of them. "Knowing Padfoot, he'd have made it a point to order at least two of them every time we went to a pub."

"You two got up to all sorts of mischief when you were supposed to be lying low at Grimmauld Place, didn't you?" Tonks asked.

"Not too much... Ah, Sirius hated that old dump, he had to get out sometimes," Remus admitted with a sigh.

"I'm glad he managed to have some fun." Tonks gave him a concerned look. "Are you all right? You're not getting tired?"

"Tonks, I'm fine." Remus shook his head, exasperated. _Why is it that every attractive woman I meet instantly develops the need to mother me?_

"Hey, you can't blame me for being concerned. You were in a coma for, what? More than a week..." He nodded. He'd wanted to start this trip a month ago, but hadn't been strong enough to check out of St. Mungo's until recently.

"I'm fine now," he reassured the young witch. "Feeling better than I have in a long time, actually."

"Any more thoughts on what you're going to do in the States?" Tonks asked, changing the subject.

Remus shrugged. "Not really. I want to travel around for a bit, then look for work when my money runs out. I've worked as a Muggle before, so no worries there... They don't have a werewolf registry in the States, so I ought to do all right." Neither of them mentioned the possibility that his magic might come back to him. No one knew how long that might take, or even if there was any chance of it at all. Albus Dumbledore was about the only one who expressed confidence that it would. The old headmaster's belief gave Remus hope.

"Did you know there's a whole... what do you call 'em - pack? A whole pack of werewolves in the U.S." Tonks commented, interrupting his thoughts. "Bloke at the Ministry mentioned them. They're a major act. Muggles pay to see them transform."

Remus shuddered. "Barbaric. I can't imagine transforming in front of an audience." He glanced at the clock over the bar. The flight had been delayed over an hour. "Don't you need to be getting back?"

"Oh my gosh... yeah, I've got to run. You will be able to find the gate all right? You're sure you've got your passport?"

"Tonks, _please_." He laughed fondly. "Thanks for everything."

She hugged him. "Take care, Remus. Have a great time in the States."

He did manage to find his way to the departure gate, despite Tonks' concerns. His passport and boarding pass were secure in the pocket of his Muggle-style sport coat. Finally, a uniformed Muggle announced that they were ready to begin boarding. Remus showed his papers and started down the long, echoing corridor to the airplane. He looked at the interior with interest as a stewardess checked his papers yet again. Two steps into the crowded aisle between seats and Remus instinctively recoiled. _I can't breathe! _The air in the cabin was stale, musty and smelling of body odor. Impatiently, he strode forward, forcing himself to stay calm. _Of course you can breathe, you don't see anyone passing out, do you? _A week away from the full moon and the monster within was making its presence known. _So it's a little smelly and claustrophobic, _Remus reminded himself as he found his seat. _You've dealt with worse – like the potions lab at Hogwarts. _

He concentrated on the stewardesses' safety lecture, dutifully memorizing the location of the exits. As the plane took off and began to gain altitude, he relaxed. Looking out the window, it was almost possible to imagine that he was on a broomstick, flying free. He was finally on his way.

——————

Author's notes: This story is being reposted after being revised. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first draft of the story: invisible2u, Aly DragonChild, Jedi Blu, Lady At Large, Emma Barrows, mac1, Kaori7395, TrinityDD, Kail Ceannai, MiniMePink, Sennica01, tomato-can, tessajalynn-cilory, trevor-bruttenholm, abesapien, Arwen Lumos, Butterscotch1998, Dark and prone to violence, DianaBanana, gaia-of-earth, Illume, Kaminari-Lightning, Keran, mione1, Moriann, Myranya, Nala's Mom, oogityboogity, Scorchy-11, Shadow Dragon25, and Wolfspaw. Your comments and encouragement have been greatly appreciated!


	2. Scent of a Memory

_Manhattan, July 15, 1997_

New York City was a dazzle of lights as the plane touched down. A bored customs agent barely glanced at his passport. Remus negotiated the baggage carousel, the escalators—boring, without Tonks—and the taxi queue. Once he'd checked in to his hotel, he found himself restless and eager to explore. _It's early, and after all, they do call this 'the City that Never Sleeps'. _Out in the warm summer night, a multitude of competing odors assaulted him; automobile exhaust, hot asphalt, perfume, sweat, hair products. The cuisine of half a dozen nations wafted from restaurants as he passed.

The acrid scent of peroxide drifted from a hair salon, the chemical reek vividly recalling the duel with Rabastan Lestrange to his mind. Remus lingered outside the salon for a few minutes, hoping more memories would resurface. He'd killed Bellatrix Lestrange, in self-defense, Mad-Eye Moody had told him. He couldn't remember. No new memories came to him and he continued on, half disappointed, half relieved.

The stench from overflowing dumpsters crowded in an alleyway nearly made him gag. He automatically reached for his wand and rolled his eyes as his fingers came up empty. He'd learned the spell that temporarily killed his sense of smell early in his third year at Hogwarts; using it was second nature.

Remus chuckled ruefully as he remembered being sent to the Hogwarts infirmary for the second time in a week...

——————

_Hogwarts Infirmary, November 1, 1973. (Third Year at Hogwarts)_

"What are we going to do with you, Mr. Lupin?" a harried Madam Pomfrey tsked.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it's just that the cauldron fumes make me sick, sometimes. Usually I can manage, but this week we've been working with shrivelfigs..." the third-year student grimaced.

"Well, you spend enough time here for legitimate reasons. We can't have Professor Langan sending you to me every time there's a bad-smelling potion, can we?" The boy looked miserable and Poppy Pomfrey's expression softened. "I know it isn't your fault, Remus, but you aren't really sick. We just need to find a way for you to cope with that over-active olfactory of yours." The nurse crossed to a bookshelf and pulled down a slim volume, flipping through the pages impatiently. "This may just do the trick," she announced. "Don't let the title put you off. Potions was your last class of the day? Good. I want you to sit down and study this on your own – I've got half the Ravenclaw quidditch team in there," she said, jerking her head toward the hospital wing. "A bludger went rogue during practice." Pomfrey handed him the book and bustled off, muttering "crazy, dangerous sport" under her breath.

Remus sat down in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs and turned the book over. His brows drew down in a frown of consternation. The cover was a cheery yellow. Bright pink lettering spelled out _The Modern Witch's Handbook of Practical Remedies_. Remus flipped to the page Madam Pomfrey had indicated. _A spell to cure _morning sickness_? Oh dear god... if Peter or Sirius finds out about this I'll never hear the end of it. _Naturally curious, he shook off his embarrassment and read further. It made sense, in a strange way. Many pregnant women were sensitive to odors, just as he was. Convinced it was worth a try, he practiced the incantation and wand motions.

By the time Madam Pomfrey had returned, Remus had gotten bored with practicing and was absorbed in reading the chapter about Contraceptive Charms. _Diagrams! Now that's something Sirius and James would be interested in..._

He startled and blushed when the nurse plucked the volume from his hands. "It wasn't necessary for you to read the _rest _of the book, Mr. Lupin," she admonished, blushing nearly as red as he was. She put the book into her desk, making a minor show of locking the drawer. "Did you practice the spell as I told you to?"

"Yes ma'am," Remus mumbled, abashed.

"Very well, show me." Madam Pomfrey uncorked a bottle of smelling salts. Quickly, Remus demonstrated his ability to cast the spell. He didn't even flinch as she waved the bottle under his nose.

"I can't smell a thing. Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

The nurse smiled. "Run along with you." As the door closed behind the boy, her smile faded. "I'll be seeing you again soon enough," she murmured regretfully.

———————

_Hogwarts Library, November 14, 1973_ _(Third Year at Hogwarts)_

Madam Pomfrey was right, of course. Remus' transformations were ordeals that left him weak and ill. The school nurse researched dozens of healing balms and salves, trying to minimize the scarring from the boy's self-inflicted bites and scratches.

One evening not long after the full moon, Remus was studying late in the library. It wasn't easy to keep up when he missed nearly a full week of classes every month, but his friends helped a lot...usually. _These notes don't make any sense,_ he thought, turning James Potter's History of Magic notebook in his hands. One sentence scrawled across the page and halfway up the margin, becoming more and more illegible until it finally ended abruptly. _What the heck? _

His attempt to study was interrupted by Severus Snape. The Slytherin jostled his shoulder as he swept past. Remus chose to ignore him, accepting the contact as an accident rather than an excuse to duel as James or Sirius undoubtedly would have done. _Not that I'm afraid of him. _His eyes met Snape's study partner Miranda Prosper, still seated at the next table. She hastily turned her attention back to her book. Remus watched her for a moment longer. The female Slytherin had been Snape's partner in Potions since their first year, a fact which did nothing to endear her to James and his friends. She wore her dark hair in a tight braid in an effort to control it, but it still curled in a frizzy halo around her face. Peter Pettigrew had once stuck the end of that braid into his inkwell when they'd sat behind her and Snape in Potions class. Remus chuckled to himself; that little prank had earned Peter a bloody nose and a seriously bad case of curse-induced acne.

"What's so funny, Lupin ?"

He looked up. Miranda Prosper was standing at the other side of the table, her heavy brows drawn down in a scowl. "Nothing, Prosper. I wasn't laughing at you, if that's what you thought."

She jabbed a finger at the notebook. "I'm glad _I _don't have to rely on your so-called friends," she told him, still scowling. "Forget it, Black skived off History of Magic the day you were absent, and Potter spent the whole class doodling and giggling with Pettigrew."

"I don't see that it's any of your business." Remus bridled at her criticism of his friends, even though it was probably accurate; most of James' notes consisted of doodles and crudely drawn cartoons of Professor Binns.

"Oh, shut up. Take these," she said brusquely. "You won't be prepared for the quiz Friday, otherwise."

Remus blinked. She'd handed him her own notes, well-organized and written in a graceful hand. "I don't know what to say, Prosper. That's really very nice of you." He looked around suspiciously, half expecting Severus Snape to leap out and hex him, for Miranda Prosper to snatch the notes back and the Slytherin couple to have a good laugh at his expense.

Miranda gave a nervous glance around the library as well and hurried back to her own seat. "You're the only Gryffindor in our year who's not a total berk," she whispered across the aisle.

Remus blinked again; an odd expression had crossed her face, almost a smile. _She's almost... pretty, when she's not glaring. What am I thinking ? She's _Snape's _girlfriend !_ Still, she was helping him. "Thanks, Prosper."

"Don't bother to give me the notes back," she told him, frowning once more. "I don't want my friends to find out I'm helping a Gryffindor git."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Fine by me. I'd rather not have my friends see me associating with a Slytherin."

——————

_Manhattan, July 15, 1997_

Remus had a late dinner at a café, then strolled through Central Park. _It's getting late; I should probably head back to the hotel. _A group of people passed him on the sidewalk. A woman laughed, a soft, husky sound, quickly stifled. He whirled, trying to catch a glimpse of her. _Miranda ? _He took a step or two after the group. The woman was blonde. He could hear her say something in answer to one of her companions; her accent was American, not British. A man in the group looked back at Remus and put his arm around her shoulders protectively. Remus turned away. _Of course it wasn't her, _he thought, flustered. It had been years since he'd reacted like that. There was a time when he would catch a glimpse of a young woman, hear a snatch of conversation, and turn, heart pounding, thinking he'd recognized her hair, her voice. Remus sighed. It was just because he'd been reminiscing, he decided. _Forget about her. Miranda Prosper walked out of your life years ago. For all you know, she's dead. _He shook off the morbid thoughts and walked briskly back to his hotel.


	3. The Exact Art

_Manhattan, July 16, 1997_

Though he woke early, Remus made himself lounge in the double bed for a while, reveling in the feeling of strength coursing through his body, of full health finally returning after his long recovery. Finally he rose, showered, dressed, and went out into the streets to see the sights.

Central Park was an oasis of nature in the midst of the towering Muggle city with its overabundance of sights and smells. Remus barely noticed when the monster within led him off the gravel path and deep into the trees, following animal trails through the overgrowth. He lifted his head and sniffed; there were half a dozen squirrels nearby, a mouse or two, and of greatest interest to the always-hungry wolf, a rabbit—_there_, _in that thicket!_ He could smell its terror, hear the tiny heart beating wildly in its chest. Remus took a step toward the prey, then shook himself impatiently. He collected himself and retraced his steps back to civilization.

The monster was almost totally quiescent inside the air-conditioned, inverted ziggurat of the Guggenheim Museum. Remus strolled down the sloping ramp through the galleries, admiring the abstract art—more or less incomprehensible, but no matter. _A werewolf, appreciating art... _he chuckled, imagining the reaction of someone like Dolores Umbridge. _I also wear shoes and have mastered the intricacies of silverware, not that any of her ilk would believe it. _Once he'd reached the ground floor, Remus exited the museum in search of something a bit more lively—Times Square.

On the subway heading toward Broadway, he found himself staring out the doors of the car, scanning the faces in each station, searching for a glimpse of curly brown hair, of bright blue eyes under dark, heavy brows. Straining to catch the sound of soft, husky laughter, the scent of one particular individual among hundreds. Miranda Prosper. _Stop it_, he ordered himself. Still, as the subway clattered between stops, he couldn't help remembering the day they had begun their unlikely friendship.

——————

_Double Potions with Slytherin, March 19, 1975 (Fourth year at Hogwarts)_

"Peter, no!" Remus grabbed the boy's wrist just in time to keep him from tipping the bowl of lacewings into the bubbling cauldron. "We have to add the hemlock first."

"Oh. Thanks, Remus." Peter Pettigrew wiped his forehead and bent to re-read the recipe. "Oops, that would have been bad, wouldn't it?"

_Only if you consider making your cauldron boil over bad. _Remus grinned at the shorter boy, then glanced at the clock, relieved to see that the Potions class was almost over. At the next table, Sirius was frowning at his and James' potion, which had turned an unlikely shade of pink. _That's definitely bad, _Remus thought. _It doesn't help that James isn't paying the least bit of attention._ Sirius' lab partner was currently threatening Severus Snape in an undertone. All day, the two fourth-years had been carrying on a surreptitious duel between classes. Remus shook his head and returned his attention to his own potion. He lifted the brew off the heat and nodded to Peter to add the lacewings. "I think we've managed a passing mark, mate― "

Miranda Proctor's scream interrupted him. Distracted by Snape's ongoing quarrel with James, she'd made the same mistake as Peter. "Stupid bint! Didn't you read the recipe? Now you've ruined it!" Snarling, Snape jumped away from the erupting cauldron, falling heavily against Pettigrew, who in turn dropped the bottle he was filling with their finished brew. Remus stifled his own snarl as the potion splashed over both of them. It burned.

"Careful! Mr. Snape, Mr. Pettigrew, that's enough from both of you! _Scourgify!_" Peter and Snape, caught trying to hex one another, reluctantly put up their wands as Professor Langan magically removed the spilled potions. "Anyone get splashed? Here, rub on some of this paste. It will soothe the burns." Langan levitated a jar of orange salve onto Remus' and Peter's work table. "I see our time is up. Class dismissed," the Potions master snapped, throwing up his hands in exasperation at the chaos. "Oh, and boys?" he skewered Snape and Peter with a glare. "Ten points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin, and if I hear of any more fighting, you will both be serving detention. That goes for you too, Potter, is that clear?"

The chaos seemed to increase for a minute as students from both Houses rushed to clean up their work tables and exit the room, everyone grousing about the lost points. Remus and Peter rubbed salve on their burns and lamented the loss of their potion. "That's another naught out of ten, you realize that," Peter sighed morosely. "Come on, let's catch up to the others. I'll bet James is whipping the snot out of Snivellus right now," he said, brightening.

"You go on ahead," Remus told him. Miranda Prosper was still clearing her side of the table, her shoulders hunched. Remus waited until Peter's footsteps had pattered away down the hallway, then picked up the open jar of burn salve and approached her. "Have some of this, Prosper, it really helps."

"I'm all right," she said stiffly, turning her face away from him. Remus could tell she was crying. And her right hand was hurt, though she had it hidden in the folds of her robe; he could smell the burned flesh.

"Don't be stubborn, Prosper, that's your wand hand. You'll have a rough time of it if that blisters." On impulse, he seized her wrist, pulling her toward him. She started to struggle, but he scooped up some of the salve and slopped it onto the burn. Miranda gave a soft gasp of surprise as the cool orange paste instantly took away the pain. She stood still, wiping her eyes on her sleeve as Remus turned her hand over and rubbed the salve into her palm. "There, there, this will make it all better," he crooned, his tone soothing, not really paying attention to what he was saying. She sniffled and wiped her eyes again. He couldn't stand to see an animal in pain; under the circumstances, the Slytherin girl was no different than a fox or a rabbit caught in a snare. Remus glanced up and their eyes met. Both began to blush.

"Er, thanks, Lupin, it does feel better now," Miranda muttered, pulling her hand from his grasp.

_Oh my god,_ Remus thought incoherently. _I _touched _her. A Slytherin! And Snape's girlfriend._ Hastily, he took a step back. "Um, right, I'll just put this away..." He grabbed the jar of salve and fumbled the lid back on. A moment later, his anger flared. _What does she see in Snape? He had the nerve to call her stupid!_ "Your lab partner wasn't very sympathetic, was he? I daresay it was his fault in the first place, distracting everyone with his duel with James."

"Potter started it," Miranda flared, "as usual!"

Remus snorted. "Of course, you have to stick up for your boyfriend."

She gasped. "You—he isn't—you think Severus Snape is my _boyfriend_?"

"Isn't he? You two are always together..."

"So what, Lupin? So are you and Pettigrew! Does that make him _your_ boyfriend ?"

"Don't be stupid!"

She smirked, her point made. "Severus and I are friends, that's all. We're both good at the same things, so we study together."

"Some friend." Remus found himself unwilling to let the subject drop. "I didn't see him rushing to help when you got burned."

Miranda glared at him. She started to brush past him, out of the empty laboratory, then suddenly changed her mind, her expression softening. She glanced around hurriedly, making sure they were really alone. "It's not his fault," she tried to explain. "Potter makes his life miserable—I know, they're probably both partly to blame," she amended when Remus started to protest. "Anyway, Severus is just having an off day. We both had a terrible time in Transfiguration this morning," she confided. "Have you tried turning rabbits into slippers yet? It was awful, Severus' pair kept hopping away, and mine dropped a big pile of turds on McGonagall's desk. You should have seen her face!"

Remus couldn't help it; he smirked. "Professor McGonagall said _my_ slippers were outstanding." It was true; he'd always done well in Transfiguration. Of course, making the finished slippers tartan plaid had undoubtedly influenced his grade. 'Blatant sucking up to the Head of House,' Sirius had accused him, grinning. "Maybe you should consider getting a new study partner, Prosper," Remus said now, more than a little surprised at his audacity.

A sly smile tugged at the corners of the Slytherin's mouth. "Oh really? Are you applying for the job, Lupin?" she asked flirtatiously.

"Why not?" _She doesn't look angry. She's sort of smiling, actually. _Bemused, Remus tried to analyze Miranda's unexpected reaction. _Good lord, she's looking at me the way girls always look at Sirius!_ "Look, you and Snape are both good at Potions, but you're having trouble in Transfiguration, right? I'm terrible at Potions, but I get top marks in Transfiguration. We could... we could help one another," he blurted.

Her expression turned calculating. "No one could know," Miranda said slowly.

Instinctively, Remus' eyes darted to the doorway. By now, everyone would be up in the great hall having dinner. "Of course not," he agreed. _Studying with a Slytherin? James would have a fit._ "It will be our secret."

"We're missing dinner," she pointed out. "Meet me in the library at eight-thirty, back in the corner behind the Charms section, okay?" Briskly, Miranda gathered her books. "I'll go up to dinner now. You wait five minutes so we aren't seen together." Remus nodded. "Oh, and let's get something straight, Lupin. This is a study session, not a date."

"Don't flatter yourself, Prosper." He smiled at her, softening the harsh words. She thrust out a hand and he shook it firmly. "We have an understanding, then. This is strictly business."


	4. Broadway Werewolf

_Manhattan, Afternoon, July 16, 1997_

Remus climbed the subway steps into the bedlam of Times Square. The noise was unbelievable—and the crowds, surging and shifting, a kaleidoscope of color, of scent—all his senses were overwhelmed. Remus let the mass of people push him along the sidewalk. Suddenly he stopped, open-mouthed, gawking like a caricature of a country bumpkin. There on the side of a building, among the oversized posters for plays and musicals... a werewolf was transforming.

The man's face, two stories tall, gazed out at the crowd. His dark eyes were intense and brooding. Then the billboard flashed to the next picture in the sequence, resembling a magical photograph somehow stuck in an endless slow-motion loop. There he was again, his lip curled in a snarl, the canine teeth already extended past his lower lip. Twin lines of scarlet blood dripped from his mouth where the fangs had torn through. His jaw was beginning to elongate. The human ears had begun to reshape themselves, springing upward into points. The man's dark hair, heavily streaked with grey, was becoming thicker, greyer, now growing in a vee down his forehead that extended nearly to the eyebrows. The eyebrows themselves were growing thicker, the expressive, dark eyes below them becoming rounded, less human. Those eyes were arresting, blazing with pride. Flash—the billboard changed again. Now the face was totally stripped of its humanity. The jaws were stretched wide, far past the capacity of human bones, the nose reshaped into a snout. Whiskers were sprouting, the tongue, monstrous and bloodied, beginning to loll out of the mouth. And still those eyes stared down at the crowd. Flash— again—and the transformation was complete. A wolf gazed out from the billboard, grey, canine, howling soundlessly— but not a natural animal. A werewolf, the eyes alight with human intelligence, human emotion, in addition to the animal's mindless pain and rage.

Remus stood in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, ignoring the throng that pressed around him on all sides. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the billboard. _It looks so real... it _is _real._ He'd never seen another werewolf transform. Once in his office at Hogwarts, curious, he'd brought in a mirror and watched his reflection as the full moon had risen outside the window. _And that's what it looked like, all right, _he thought dryly as the bloody fangs flashed again. Seeing his face and body contorting had made the pain of transformation even worse somehow. He had finally closed his eyes, giving voice to the howls that his silencing charms prevented the staff and students from hearing.

"Incredible, isn't it?" The werewolf flashed through his transformation again. Remus had no idea how many times he'd watched the sequence. Finally, he became aware of the hand gripping his shoulder, shaking him gently to get his attention. "Incredible," the stranger repeated.

"Er, yes. Yes it is." He turned to see a young man in his twenties, dressed in T-shirt and jeans, his hair pulled back in a ponytail. Remus glanced back at the billboard and scanned the text. _The Moon Also Rises_... nominated for three Tony awards... Smaller print listed the theater and showtimes.

"Have you seen the play?" the young man asked keenly.

"Um, no. Not yet."

"Ha!" the stranger said with satisfaction. "Don't plan on seeing it any time soon. It's been sold out for months, even before Martin Croteau did the transformation sequence."

"Martin Croteau? That's the, um, actor?" Remus indicated the advertisement.

"Actor, stuntman, whatever you want to call him," his impromptu tour guide said carelessly. "There are those who believe he's the real thing. A real werewolf." The man narrowed his eyes, looking to see how Remus reacted to this pronouncement.

"Interesting." Remus kept a bland expression on his face. The stranger seemed pleased. His pale eyes gleamed strangely as he looked up at the flashing images again.

"I took those photographs," he said with pride. "Josh Gibson," he introduced himself, thrusting out his hand.

"Remus Lupin." A group of tourist jostled past them as they shook hands. It was late in the afternoon, Remus saw with a little jolt of surprise. He must have been standing on the sidewalk for half an hour, at least. He turned back to his strange new acquaintance. "Er, may I buy you a drink, Mr. Gibson?"

——————

_A Bar near Times Square, July 16, 1997_

"So you're saying this Croteau fellow joined the cast last month?" Remus asked as they sipped beer in a booth at a restaurant Gibson had led him to.

"For one show only, Lupin." The photographer had that gleam in his eyes again. "On the eve of the full moon. Those pictures are all candid shots," he added. "I set up my equipment in the orchestra pit and took them as the transformation occurred."

"And you're trying to tell me this wasn't an act? That it was genuine?" _This man is a Muggle!_ he thought, amazed. _If he's to be believed, one of hundreds who've watched a werewolf transform on a Broadway stage! _"I'm sorry," he told Gibson, "it just seems unbelievable to me. Aren't people afraid of being bitten?"

"Croteau wore specially-designed shackles," Gibson explained. "At intermission, his handlers placed him in a cage backstage. I took pictures of all that, too." His expression was thoughtful. "He's well-spoken, college educated... You know, once he'd transformed, Croteau was docile as a lap dog, and yet I could sense how very dangerous he was... or could be, if he ever lost control."

Remus shuddered, imagining being chained in front of an audience, having his picture taken. _Barbaric._ He suddenly remembered Tonks' remarks about a werewolf stage act. _Amazing. The wizarding world hates and fears us—yet Muggles have made this werewolf a celebrity? _"Where does this Martin Croteau live, when he's not performing on Broadway?" he asked sharply.

"Down near Lafayette, Louisiana," sighed Gibson. "The play's producers have been negotiating with him for a return engagement, but so far the man's refused... says it's too stressful to undergo the transformation without the support of his family. His pack, so to speak." Gibson's smile was strained. He had that fanatic glint in his eyes again. "I must say, Mr. Lupin, you're a lot more open-minded than most people I've met. Most dismiss Martin Croteau's transformation from man to wolf as a clever illusion."

Remus shrugged. He didn't like the hunger he saw in the young photographer's eyes. "It's an entertaining possibility, Mr. Gibson, but it must be an illusion." _Must be, because if Muggles like yourself ever found out that werewolves are real... _He shook his head and slid out of the booth. "Thank you for an intriguing story, Mr. Gibson. Goodbye." Ignoring the other's protests, he strode from the restaurant.

——————

_Manhattan, Evening, July 16, 1997_

Remus was still agitated as he neared his hotel, the wolf reacting to the upcoming full moon. The doors of a nightclub adjacent to the hotel swung open, admitting a group of people. Music throbbed into the street for a moment before the doors swung shut again. Remus lingered on the sidewalk. The sensible thing would be to go up to his room, watch the television for a while, and go to bed. The monster within panted and whined at the thought. Restless, his footsteps led him past the hotel entrance. He hesitated in front of the flashing neon sign, images of the billboard werewolf flashing through his mind. _Four more_ _days until the full moon... this is not a good idea. _Remus started to turn back to the hotel. Two women passed him, giggling, into the building, surrounded by a cloud of perfume and pheromones. The music throbbed again. The wolf prowled the confines of his mind, restless, insistent. _Hotel room, T.V., bed, _Remus reminded himself.

_Live a little, would you, Moony? _Sirius Black's voice, mocking the banality of a summer evening wasted in front of the flickering Muggle box. A moment's struggle, and Remus gave in. With a predator's stalking gait, he entered the nightclub.

——————

_Lupin's Residence, London, July 11, 1995 ("Lying Low at Lupin's")_

Remus spun around and launched the garden gnome in a high arc over the hedge. The lumpy brown creature landed in bushes at the edge of the woods with a soft rustle of leaves. "I think that's the last of them," he commented. There was no response, only the sounds of panting and Buckbeak's feet pawing the ground. Turning around, Remus saw Sirius, in his animagus form, jump onto the hippogriff's back. Buckbeak squawked and leaped sideways, flinging the big dog to the ground. Sirius rolled over, tongue lolling out in a doggy grin. He darted forward, dodging the hippogriff's slashing claws and leaping for his back again. "Whoa, hey! Stop it, you two!" Remus pulled the dog back by the scruff of the neck, narrowly avoiding being trampled. "That's dangerous, Padfoot," he admonished the dog sternly, shaking his finger in front of its moist black nose. The huge retriever didn't seem particularly chastened. That impression was confirmed as Sirius resumed his human form, laughing, jerking the collar of his robes out of Remus' hand.

"Buckbeak was bored, Moony. We were only playing, weren't we, Beaky? We were just having a bit of fun." Buckbeak shuffled back, dragging his chain, and lounged under the rowan tree. After a moment, bored again, the hippogriff began idly scratching the ground for worms.

"It's all fun and games until someone gets disemboweled," Remus huffed. "I thought you were helping me to de-gnome the garden." Sirius just gave him a very dog-like grin. Remus couldn't help but grin back at his old friend. "Have I told you lately that you're dangerously unbalanced ?" _Twelve years in Azkaban_, he thought, as appalled now as he'd been the first time the truth was revealed. It had been just over a year since he'd discovered Pettigrew's betrayal. _After that, it's amazing Padfoot manages to be as sane as he is._

Sirius was scratching his head, gravely considering Remus' question. "I think that was your first reminder for today. Maybe you'd better tell me again so I don't forget."

Remus chuckled and conjured a basket. "Come on, make yourself useful for once. Help me pick something for dinner... how about some onions, peppers, and tomatoes ? We could have an omelet." Suiting action to words, he headed for the neat rows of vegetables, Sirius trailing discontentedly behind him.

"An omelet?" Sirius whined. "Dammit, Remus, don't you ever have meat? I am not a vegetarian, mate. Ring up the grocery on that telly-phone thing of yours and order us some steaks, would you? I'll pay for the damn things."

"Language, Sirius," Remus cautioned, and chuckled again as the animagus glanced over his shoulder nervously. The ghost of Remus' elderly aunt Melinda had registered her disapproval of their houseguest—emphatically. "Steak for dinner is a great idea," he conceded. "I'll just nip out and get some." He tossed the basket to Sirius. "Pick some lettuce too, would you? I'll fix a tossed salad to go with those steaks."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Tossed salad," he grumbled under his breath. "They fed us better back in Azkaban."

——————

_Lupin's Residence, London, July 11, 1995_

As Remus cleared the dinner dishes and set them to wash themselves in the sink, Sirius prowled around the kitchen. He touched the old AM radio, which began to play the music of a previous generation. "You never mentioned your father was a Muggle." He glanced sidelong at Remus through a curtain of hair. "Of course, I can understand why. They were strange times, back then."

"It wasn't just the times that were strange," Remus answered calmly. "Mum was very... er, _touchy_ about the subject. She managed to half-convince herself that Dad was a Squib."

Sirius continued his survey of the kitchen, running his fingers over the calendar on the wall, (1965) the telephone, (a black bakelite model with rotary dial) Remus' father's worn armchair, (Chesterfield) the reading lamp (electric) that stood next to it. "You were more Muggle than wizard, when you came to Hogwarts, weren't you? We always thought it was because you'd been isolated from other wizarding children. Because of your lycanthropy."

"Mum was a little over-protective, after I was bitten. And Dad insisted that I be acclimated to the Muggle world," Remus admitted. "My parents had to register me at the Ministry's Beast Division, you know. Dad knew then that our own kind— magical folk, I mean— would never accept me."

"You took a Muggle job after school, didn't you?" Sirius said shrewdly, turning to face him.

"You've found me out," Remus smiled. "I was so ashamed of it at the time. I'd really rather have died than let you or James know."

"Merlin's beard," Sirius breathed. "I never dreamed... you were evasive when I asked what you'd been doing. You always seemed to have money, but no one knew where you were getting it. Remus, that's why I suspected you of spying for the other side!"

Remus clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, mate. You know that I suspected you, too. You were always sneaking off—"

Sirius grasped his hand in a firm grip. "I know. I understand." He turned away and sat down in the old leather chair. "I had a Muggle girlfriend," he said brusquely. "We met just after James' and Lily's wedding. I didn't dare tell anyone—you know what it was like back then, the attacks on half-bloods and Muggles..." Sirius slouched in the chair, brooding.

_A Muggle girlfriend... she would have never found out what happened to Sirius. I wonder where she is now? Probably married with two or three kids. _Remus knew better than to offer sympathy. "The full moon is tomorrow night," he said to change the subject. "Care to join me in a midnight romp through the woods, Padfoot? "

"Brilliant! It'll be like old times." The gaunt face brightened, traces of the young man's former good looks revealed by his smile. "But why wait until tomorrow? Come on, Moony, let's hit the town tonight—"

"Not a good idea," Remus interrupted.

"Ah, come on, why not?"

Remus ticked the reasons off on his fingers. "One, you're supposed to be lying low, remember? Dumbledore's orders—"

"But we will be lying low, Moony! What better way to blend in than a quiet evening spent down at the local pub with the neighbors?" Sirius smiled his most winning smile.

"Two," Remus continued doggedly, "it won't be quiet. Last time we slipped out, you wound up dancing on a table, singing that stupid song about the goblin."

"I did not!... Did I really?" Remus nodded. Sirius scowled. "You're right, as usual, Remus. I'll just sit here in this forty-year-old chair and read this fifty-year-old magazine." He fumbled with the reading lamp.

"That's being sensible, Padfoot." Remus turned the lamp on for him. _I will _not _let you manipulate me. _He went into the living room and picked up a book.

Five minutes later, Remus was just about ready to howl. Sirius licked his thumb and flipped over a page of the magazine. (One of Aunt Melinda's old copies of _Witch Weekly_. The March 3, 1945 issue, to be exact.) Then he sighed. Twenty feet away in the living room, Remus could _hear_ him. Lick. Flip. Sigh. Remus growled softly, tried to concentrate on his book. A few seconds passed in silence, then the sequence began again. Lick. Flip. Sigh. Lick. Flip. Sigh.

Remus rolled his eyes. _I really shouldn't let him manipulate me._ He put the book down and returned to the kitchen, leaning against the door jamb. "I was thinking we might head down to the pub," he suggested, his voice casual.

Behind the magazine, Sirius grinned wickedly. "I suppose we could. If you really want to, Moony."

——————

_A Pub in London, July 11, 1995_

"Goth girls," Sirius whispered, indicating the group of young women dressed in black seated at a booth in the corner. "Goth girls love me. It's that whole starved pallor thing." He preened. "Shall we go chat them up?"

Remus demurred. "Dangerous, Padfoot."

"Oh, _yeah._" Sirius eyed the Gothic trio approvingly. "They do have that bad-girl attitude, don't they? You can have the one on the left, I'll take the two on the right."

"No, I mean literally dangerous, mate." Remus grimaced. "Silver jewelry..."

"Oh. Right. Well, nip on up to the bar and get us a couple of drinks, then," Sirius said cheerfully. "I'll find us a seat." A few minutes later, pints of beer in hand, Remus scanned the crowded pub. "Oy, Remus, over here!" Sirius was sitting on a sofa between two blond women. Both were attractive, heavily made-up, and not at all the sort of women Aunt Melinda would approve of. Both smiled brightly at him as he approached. Sirius grinned. "Remus, allow me to introduce Sharon and Tracey."


	5. Southbound

_A Manhattan Nightclub, July 16, 1997_

Aftershave, perfume, and cigarette smoke assaulted Remus as he stepped through the nightclub's doors. The music performed its own aural assault, lights on the dance floor pulsing to the beat. The two women he'd noticed entering earlier sat at a table near the bar, a brunette and her plump blond friend. The blond gave him a look—the kind that, years ago, he'd mentally classified as 'the Sirius look'. Sirius was the one who'd generally attracted looks like that from women, not him. But tonight there was a gibbous moon in the sky; perhaps that made a difference. Remus approached the two with a confidence he wouldn't normally feel. "May I buy you ladies a refill ?" They progressed through introductions, small talk, more drinks. The brunette got up several times to dance. The blond didn't seem to be much of a dancer. _Her name is Brenda,_ Remus reminded himself. He didn't remember her friend's name, nor did he notice when she left the table for good. The DJ played a slow song and he reached for Brenda's hand. "Dance with me."

"Um... I'm no good at dancing."

He smiled. "Neither am I." It was just an excuse to touch her. He couldn't resist playing this game sometimes, letting the monster inside him have its way. Brenda relaxed into his embrace as they swayed together. Everything else receded—the crowd, the music, the lights strobing through red, blue, green. There was only the woman, the warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, her skin. Her pulse, rapid now as she pressed against him, the excitement coursing through them both. The song ended, but they didn't separate. She looked up at him as the dance floor began to empty, her lips parted in a dreamy smile. He could bend down and kiss her... Take her back to his hotel room... _No._ Remus released her, berating himself. _It's animal lust. She deserves better. For that matter, _I_ deserve better._ Inside his mind the wolf snarled, thwarted.

"Is something wrong ?"

"No," he said gently, stepping back. "It's just that I'm leaving town tomorrow."

She smiled. "Well, we've got the rest of the night..." He shook his head. Her features hardened. "Oh god. You're married, aren't you? I should have known."

—————

_London, early morning, July 12, 1995 ("Lying Low at Lupin's") _

Remus and Sirius made their way down the dimly-lit street. They'd been ejected from the pub long after last call—and several rousing choruses of Sirius' goblin song. "See, Moony, that was fun, wasn't it?" Sirius suddenly stopped and peered around. "Hey, where's Sheila and... um, What's-her-name?"

"We called a cab for them, remember?"

"Oh. I suppose that was your idea." Sirius shook his head. "What's-her-name really liked you, you know. Tonight could have been your lucky night, mate."

"_I _want a bit more from a relationship than 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am,'" Remus informed him loftily.

Sirius frowned, suddenly belligerent. "Oh yeah? Well _you_ weren't celibate for twelve years," he said defensively. Just as suddenly, his frown faded, replaced by a bright smile. "So, where are we off to now?"

"Home," Remus said firmly. "It's four o'clock in the morning." He gave Sirius a gentle push to get him moving again.

Sirius staggered. "We're _walking_," he said, affronted. "Why are we walking?" He started to draw out his wand.

Hastily, Remus plucked it from his fingers. "Oh, no. You're too far gone to apparate. Anyway, we're almost there."

A few minutes later, he guided Sirius across the overgrown yard and onto the sagging front porch. From the outside, Remus' childhood home looked abandoned and badly dilapidated, but that was an illusion, part of the web of enchantments that shielded the wizard's residence from prying Muggles. Once inside, Sirius stifled a belch. "G'night, Moony." Transforming, he sprang onto the sofa and started to paw the cushions.

"Uh-uh! Off the furniture," Remus told him sharply. The dog gave a soft whine and stepped back onto the floor reluctantly. Remus couldn't help but smile. "Good boy," he said, scratching him behind the ears. Padfoot just gave him a level look before he flopped down on the hearth rug. Remus knew he would be back on the sofa again as soon as he'd left the room. _It's a lucky thing for Sirius that dogs don't suffer hangovers, _he thought as he climbed the stairs.

—————

_Manhattan, July 17, 1997_

After breakfast, Remus hit the public library in mid-town Manhattan, immersing himself in the familiar academic atmosphere. The soft murmuring of the other patrons, the hushed footfalls, the smell of paper and canvas, leather and glue, made him instantly feel at home. Years of searching out and studying obscure Dark Arts texts made it child's play to find what he wanted—information about the werewolf Martin Croteau.

Croteau's biography in _Playbill _revealed that his cameo role in the play _The Moon Also Rises_ was his first appearance on the Broadway stage, a fact that Remus had already gotten from the photographer Josh Gibson. The brief article went on to state that 'the Cajun illusionist, along with other members of his remarkable family, had been performing his act for decades in his home state of Louisiana, earning the adulation of hundreds of fans nationwide.'

A Louisiana travel guide yielded another short paragraph describing the Croteau Brothers Carnival on scenic Bayou Gabriel, just outside the tiny village of St. Ghislain. _Fun for the Entire Family_, Remus read. The carnival featured games, amusement park rides, and shows. A variety of musical performances open to all ages... and the Croteau family's _'mind-blowing live transformations, children under seventeen not admitted'_.

Here they were, the pack of American werewolves Tonks had told him about. _An entire pack! And they somehow manage to live openly—the Muggles think it's all a clever stage act. _Remus made a split-second decision. He had to find out more about these werewolves, perhaps even meet them. It was time to head south.

—————

_Lafayette Parish, Louisiana, July 17, 1997_

The airplane touched down at Lafayette Regional Airport at ten o'clock at night. The airplane ticket he'd purchased had used up most of Remus' money, but he didn't care. He was used to getting by without money. His original plan had been to see the country, working at Muggle odd jobs to support himself as he traveled. That hadn't changed; he'd move on once he'd satisfied his curiosity about the American werewolves. Carrying his suitcase, Remus strolled to a likely-looking intersection and stuck out his thumb. _I'll spend the full moon at Bayou Gabriel._


	6. That Seventies Chapter

_Hogwarts, October 14, 1975 (Fifth Year at Hogwarts—"Lupin's Best Memory")_

"Remus. Remus! Dinner's over, come on."

Remus looked up from the Transfiguration text he'd been reading and blinked. "Eh?" The table had already been cleared. "Oh, sorry, Sirius." He stuffed the book into his satchel and followed Sirius out of the Great Hall. "Where are Peter and James?"

"They went on ahead."

Instead of making for the stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower, Sirius led him out the front doors and down the lawns. "Um, Sirius? Where are we going?"

"Forbidden Forest," Sirius said cheerfully. "Got a little surprise for you, mate."

"But the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, remember? That's why it's called the Forbidden Forest," Remus explained patiently.

Sirius gave him a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised. "So it's out of bounds. Is that going to be an issue?"

_Well I am a prefect now..._ Remus didn't voice the thought aloud. With a last glance to make sure they weren't being observed, the two fifth-years slipped into the woods. Under the trees, it was already dark, the path Sirius had chosen visible only as a paler streak against the dark, leaf-covered earth. It took a moment or two for Remus to realize that Sirius was no longer walking beside him. "Sirius?" Something rustled in the bushes, something large. Remus drew his wand and sniffed the air, wary. _Is that a stray dog?_

"Oy, Remus, over here!" Twin orbs of light came into view, James and Peter with their wands lit with the _lumos_ spell.

"What's this all about? Where's Sirius gone off to?"

"Remember our second year, when we found out you were a werewolf?" James began.

The hair on the back of Remus' neck raised. "Shh! Something's out there!" He turned, wand held defensively, trying to gauge from which direction the stealthy sounds were coming.

Peter Pettigrew's eyes grew wide, his frightened gaze darting between Remus and the surrounding trees. "What is it ?"

"A dog, I think... but _big_." Remus whirled, brandishing his wand. Intent on the potential threat, he didn't notice James and Peter relax and grin at one another. It was coming closer. Closer... Remus took aim. "_Stupe—"_

_Wham! _Something huge and furry slammed into Remus, knocking the wind out of him, knocking his wand out of his hand. Frantic, he struggled to get out from under the creature. Peter choked back a startled yell. James fell to his knees, laughing. After a confused instant during which the beast licked his face, Remus realized it wasn't trying to maul him to death. It backed off and he struggled to sit up, grabbing for his wand. "_Lumos! _What in the name of—"

An oversized black dog stood there, pale eyes gleaming in the light from their wands. Peter and James were wiping away tears of laughter. "Sirius, you idiot ! Oh my god, Remus, you should have seen your face!" James laughed. "You nearly stunned him..."

Before their eyes, the dog stretched upward, contorted, turned into Sirius Black. Remus gaped at him. "You're an animagus!"

"We all are," James told him proudly. "We'd worked it all out by the end of second year, it's just taken this long for us to actually master the spell." Remus watched in amazement as his friend transformed into a stag. He peered closer in the dim light and saw that the stag's eyes had dark markings encircling them. They reminded him of James' glasses.

"Go on, Peter, you can do it," Sirius encouraged. With a nervous shrug, Peter suddenly shrank and transformed into a rat. His whiskers twitched as he ran up to Remus and circled him. The stag lowered its great head, gently brushing against Remus' hand as he raised it to touch the velvet-covered antlers. "Now you're not the only one with an animal form," Sirius told him. Taking his animagus form again, he gamboled around the rat and the stag.

As though on cue, the three friends regained human shape and stood beaming at him. "We're going to keep you company while you're stuck as a wolf each month," James explained.

Remus was grateful for the darkness of the forest; his eyes were suddenly damp. Impulsively, he grabbed James' hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "Bloody brilliant! Does anyone else know about this ?"

"Of course not," Sirius drawled, pushing James out of the way so Remus could shake his hand too. "No one else can know. Just imagine the possibilities..."

"We did it, we did it!" Peter seemed to be having trouble believing it. He stuck out his hand for Remus to shake.

Remus grabbed the shorter boy in an impromptu hug, lifting him off the ground. James and Sirius were congratulating themselves, clapping one another on the back. The four Gryffindors slipped out of the forest and made their way back up to the castle. Sirius and Peter and James were talking excitedly about their plans for the next full moon. Remus just listened, grinning. _You lot are the best friends anyone could ever have._

———————

_Hogwarts, afternoon, April 26, 1976 (Fifth Year at Hogwarts—Career Advice)_

"Muggle Liaison," said Sirius, examining a glossy brochure. A display of wizarding careers had been set up in the Gryffndor common room. "I don't know. Working with Muggles sounds boring as hell."

"How about training security trolls," James hooted. "Talk about a stupid job!"

"The Ministry seems to want an awful lot of N.E.W.T.s from anyone applying to work for them," Peter said worriedly.

"That's only if you're going to be an auror," Sirius told him. He grabbed the brochure out of Peter's hand and scanned it. "You could do this, Remus—hey, Remus, where are you going?"

"To try and get some studying done," Remus said curtly. "I can't even think with you all banging on about careers."

———————

_Hogwarts, evening, April 26, 1976_

"All right, Moony? You missed a good dinner." Sirius flopped across the foot of his bed and pulled out yet another career brochure. "My career advice appointment is tomorrow. I'm going to tell McGonagall I want to train security trolls," he chuckled, "just to see the look on her face. You had yours today, right? How did it go?"

"Shut it, Sirius."

Sirius propped himself up on one elbow and frowned at Remus. "What's got your knickers in a twist?"

"Look, mate, I just don't want to talk about careers, okay?" Sirius gave him a quizzical look. Remus' voice was barely audible. "I'm a werewolf, remember?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Sirius said breezily. "So you'll have to take off work once a month; you can always make the time up."

"Who the hell do you think is going to hire me? It doesn't matter how much I study or what kind of marks I get. My name's been down on that list since I was seven years old!"

"The Werewolf Registry." Sirius frowned. "Does it really matter that much?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Remus said sarcastically. "Why do you think they have it? So people can make sure they don't accidentally hire a monster!" Remus clenched his fists. The anger and hurt he'd been holding back all afternoon surged to the forefront, overwhelming him. Professor McGonagall had been kind, sympathetic, but true to form, she'd also been blunt. The Ministry of Magic didn't hire werewolves in any department. Not even to work in Werewolf Support Services. And it was perfectly legal for any potential employer to deny his application, simply based on his lycanthropy. _Because to them, I'm not a human being,_ Remus thought, _I'm a _monster_. They don't even classify lycanthropes as Beings. I'm a Beast! _Sirius was saying something, his mouth moving without sound. Remus couldn't hear him. Inside his mind, the wolf howled, louder and louder until he couldn't even think.

He came back to his senses face down on the bed, pinned by Padfoot's huge front paws. The dog whined and licked the side of his face worriedly. "Ugh. Get off me! It's all right, I'm okay now." He pushed himself up to a sitting position as Sirius stepped away and transformed. "Geez, your breath stinks," he said, wiping dog slobber out of his ear.

"You scared the shit out of me," Sirius accused, his eyes wide and strangely bright. He turned away, wiping at them with his sleeve. "Don't you _ever_ do that again!"

Across the room, Remus could feel his friend shaking, hear his heart pounding. "I'm sorry, Padfoot. Really sorry."

Sirius took a deep breath. "Yeah. It's all right, Moony." He crumpled the brochure and threw it in the wastebasket. "I'm sorry too," he whispered.

———————

_Hogwarts, May 25, 1976 (O.W.L.s week—"Snape's Worst Memory"... Redux)_

Miranda Prosper was late. _She probably couldn't sneak away, _Remus thought. They'd been secretly studying together since the middle of their fourth year at Hogwarts. Tonight they'd been planning to review once more for the Transfiguration O.W.L. Remus shrugged and opened his book. If one of them had to be late or miss a meeting unexpectedly, the other simply carried on alone.

He really liked studying with Miranda Prosper. Tutoring her in Transfiguration, patiently showing her the subtle nuances of wand work, the precise motions necessary to make each spell turn out exactly as it was supposed to. In return, Prosper helped him with Potions, unraveling the mystery of how something that rarely even required use of a wand could still be powerfully magical. They'd both seen their grades improve dramatically since they'd started the secret study sessions.

Remus heard her light tread as she tiptoed between the tall shelves of books. Recognizing her scent, he didn't bother to look up from his notes. "All right, Prosper?"

"Tell me something, Lupin. Do you and your friends enjoy being idiots, or are you all just too stupid to know any better? I thought you were better than the others!"

He hadn't noticed the anger until she spoke. Now it filled the air between them, hot and metallic. He knew what was bothering her—James' and Sirius' bullying of Severus Snape that afternoon, after the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. Miranda hadn't been in the crowd that witnessed Snape's humiliation, but she'd obviously heard about it. "He was asking for it, Prosper. He cursed James, opened a big gash on his face."

"That's not how I heard it. Stebbins said Potter attacked without provocation."

Remus kept his face buried in his book. "I wasn't involved."

She reached down and flicked his prefect's badge with a finger. "Davies pantsed a first-year last month," she said. "You stopped him and took five points off Slytherin. But I guess things are different when it's your friends who are the bullies."

He could feel himself blushing. Remus forced himself to look up and meet her eyes. "I wasn't playing favorites, if that's what you're accusing me of." _No, I was just too much of a coward to tell my friends they were out of line._ "Come on, Prosper, the library will be closing in half an hour."

"You're going to apologize to Severus, right?"

"Apologize! I will not! James hexed him, not me! Anyway, what do you care? You keep insisting he's not your boyfriend."

She tossed her head, blue eyes shooting sparks, matching the heat of the anger rolling off her in waves. "But Severus is my friend, Remus. _Your_ friends humiliated him today, and you could have stopped it. I want you to apologize to him."

"I will not apologize to Severus Snape."

"Then I have nothing more to say to you, Lupin." Miranda squared her shoulders and walked away, leaving Remus to reflect that he would probably never understand girls.


	7. Caprice

_Lafayette Parish, Louisiana, nighttime, July 17, 1997_

Remus hitched a ride with an old man in a battered pick-up truck who dropped him at the side of interstate ten. "Good luck," the man told him as he hopped out, speaking the only two words he'd said during the entire drive.

"Thank you," Remus said politely and hefted his suitcase out of the truck bed. He was enveloped in humid darkness as the lights of the highway faded behind him. Other lights, glowing halogen orange, became visible as he reached the outskirts of the little town of St. Ghislain. A jangle of music reached his ears. The Full Moon Bar and Grill—Topless Dancers—Girls! Girls! Girls! The words flashed in pink neon around a larger-than-life portrait of a young woman in a string bikini. She was winking coyly over one shoulder as she bent over, displaying a curvaceous airbrushed posterior. Remus chuckled. _That's a novel portrayal of a full moon,_ he thought. Closer to town he found a small motel. A disgruntled middle-aged woman answered the bell, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she took her place behind the desk. With apologies for waking her, Remus booked a room.

——————

_Between classes, September 22, 1976 (Sixth Year at Hogwarts_)

Remus lagged behind his friends as they left the Great Hall, surreptitiously observing Miranda Prosper and Severus Snape walking hand in hand. The two Slytherins appeared to have become quite an item since the new term had begun. Remus couldn't understand it. _Why is she trying to make it look like they're dating? More importantly, why do I care what she does?_

They hadn't spoken since their argument last term, during O.W.L.s week. Remus sighed. The truth was, he missed studying with Miranda. More than studying—he missed talking with her, just being with her.

"Professor Garamond is going to give a pop quiz in Ancient Runes today," Remus overheard Snape tell her quietly. "The Hufflepuffs were talking about it. We'd better review the chapter on cuneiform over lunch."

Miranda laughed loudly, as though Snape had said something very funny. "Oh, Severus, you tease! Not in public," she cried.

_What is she playing at ? _Remus thought, annoyed. She'd been at this game for the past three weeks. Well, he wasn't fooled at all. She wasn't physically attracted to Snape, he was sure of that. He'd become all too familiar with that scent, sweetness and musk, thanks to the girls who flocked around Sirius Black. It always made Remus think of dark chocolate. He'd classified it as 'too much information' and tried his best to ignore it. But he _had _noted its absence where Prosper and Snape were concerned.

The next day she was at it again, draped over Snape in the hallway between classes. She'd started wearing her hair differently over the summer. Instead of the tight braid, it now hung loose in soft curls. _It looks nice,_ Remus thought, distracted. He snarled and turned his eyes away. A moment later, his gaze was drawn back to the couple when Miranda laughed, a throaty, seductive sound. _Very convincing act, Prosper, but I'm not buying it._ Snape, as always, was unreadable. Remus was more than tired of her game, whatever it was. He sighed heavily. He'd thought it over, and the only way he could see to put a stop to it was to let her win. Steeling himself for an unpleasant encounter, he walked over to them. "Hello, Prosper. Snape."

"Oh, hello, Lupin."

Snape didn't reply, just looked at him coldly. "Er, look, Snape..." _Dear lord, this is so humiliating. _"I know there have been times when things have, um, gotten out of hand. Like last year..." His voice trailed off. It didn't seem very diplomatic to remind the Slytherin of how James had exposed his briefs to half the student body. "Well, I just wanted to say, er, I'm sorry, Snape. I apologize."

"Apology not accepted, Lupin." Snape's black eyes glittered. Miranda's face was expressionless.

Remus walked away, his own face burning. _Well, at least that's over with. _

——————

_St. Ghislain, Louisiana, after midnight, July 18, 1997_

Remus rummaged in the suitcase, searching for the bottles he knew Tonks had hidden there for him. His fingertips slid across denim. _No, that's glass. _He might not have any magic, but the illusion couldn't hold up under Remus' knowledge that there were indeed vials of wolfsbane potion in the suitcase, whether or not he could actually detect them. He forced his fingers to close around what they insisted didn't exist and grinned as the potion came into view. He set it on the side of the bathroom sink and considered it for a long minute. _No matter what happens, I cannot forget to take this. _He grimaced. Two years hadn't dulled the remorse he felt for forgetting to take the potion that night at Hogwarts. _We might have cleared Sirius' name. If only... _Remus forced his mind away from that dark path. _Time to sleep._

Turning off the electric lights, Remus undressed and flung himself across the nearest of the two double beds. Sleep refused to come. He couldn't help imagining what would happen in two night's time when he locked himself into the room to transform. He'd put the 'do not disturb' sign on the door, draw the curtains, undress, and pace across the narrow floor space, waiting for the pain to begin. The lingering odors of cigarette smoke and disinfectant assaulted his nostrils as he imagined the scenario. Mildew on the bathroom tiles, the sickly chemical perfume of a previous occupant's hair spray... He shifted restlessly on the bed. Spending twelve hours caged in this room in wolf form was a minor horror, but one that he would just have to endure.

Remus thought longingly of slipping out of town before sunset, spending the night out in the thick, dark woods along the bayou. _Not a good idea at all. _It would be foolish for him to risk encountering any of the local werewolves during the full moon. _I came here on a whim,_ he realized with a start. _Just bought a ticket and hopped on a plane... _He hadn't reasoned out how, or even if, he would approach Martin Croteau and his family. Remus chuckled ruefully. Usually, his thought processes were deliberate, methodical, but in the hours leading up to the full moon, the monster within seemed to undermine logic. His monthly tendency to act on impulse had always driven Mad-Eye Moody wild, he remembered with another softly stifled laugh. The old retired auror, fanatically cautious himself, had never been able to understand that Remus just couldn't help himself.

He sat up on the bed, reaching for the television remote. _No,_ he decided. Much as the wolf might desire to run free, spending the full moon outdoors in the open country wasn't an option. Remus instinctively knew that encroaching on the local pack's territory would be, at the very least, poor etiquette. Worst case scenario, it could be very dangerous, even fatal. Better to resign himself to the musty little motel room. He turned the television on and let the mindless drone lull him to sleep.

——————

_Hogwarts Library, September 23, 1976 (Sixth Year at Hogwarts)_

The four Gryffindor boys had taken over a table in the library, more or less intent on Astronomy homework. "How do you figure out the angle of parallax again?" Peter asked.

"Merlin's beard, Wormtail, I've been telling you how to work that formula since first year," Sirius grumbled. "You're hopeless at Astronomy."

"I know." Peter grinned, unrepentant.

"I can't believe it. I've forgotten my star chart," Remus growled, searching through his satchel for the third time.

"Copy mine," Sirius offered. "It's damn near perfect, I'm sure it's worth an E at least."

"No, thanks. Mine was almost finished." Remus stood up. "There's no help for it, I'll just have to go back to the Tower and get it."

"Let me copy your chart, Padfoot," Peter wheedled as Remus walked away.

"No."

"Aw, come on!"

"Ah, Wormtail," James tsked. "How will you ever learn if you don't do the homework yourself?"

The Slytherins were clustered around their own table near the Potions section. Remus heard Miranda's voice as he stepped out into the hallway: "Drat, I'm out of ink. I'll be right back."

Hastily, he slipped behind a suit of armor, listening to her footsteps behind him. When she drew even with his hiding place, he stepped out and confronted her. "All right, Prosper?"

"Remus!" He could feel as well as see her blush in the dim light of the torches. "Er, thanks for finally apologizing to Severus. I appreciate it, even if he didn't."

"Does this mean we'll be resuming our studies together?" he asked.

She looked away, suddenly shy. "Well, yeah. I mean, if you want to."

"I don't know. I wouldn't want to come between you and Snape." Remus couldn't keep a touch of sarcasm out of his voice.

"That was just for show, Lupin." Her voice was very quiet.

"Sorry, Prosper, I didn't catch what you said." She'd won, but he wasn't going to make it too easy for her.

"I just did it to make you jealous," Miranda admitted, a bit louder.

_She is a Slytherin, _Remus thought, amused in spite of himself by her machinations. Something else gave him pause, though. "What about your pal Snape? It doesn't seem very kind of you to lead him on—"

"Severus? He doesn't care, Lupin. Anyway, he's... involved with someone else. Someone he met over the summer."

"What, he went along with that whole act?" Remus was horrified as another thought occurred to him. "You told _Snape_ that you were trying to make me jealous?"

"Not you specifically, no, of course not," she hastened to assure him. "But yes, he went along with it. 'I don't care who you drop your knickers for, Prosper'," she said in a fair imitation of Snape's cold, sneering tones.

Remus almost choked. _Drop her knickers—is she serious? _He took a step back, flustered. Miranda stepped closer. _Dark chocolate..._ "Um, our usual spot, tomorrow at eight-thirty?" Remus managed to ask.

"All right." As she walked away, Miranda smiled back at him over her shoulder.

_Oh, yeah. That was definitely a Sirius Look._

———————

Author's notes: Thanks to all for reading and special thanks to Aly DragonChild for the reviews.

**To Aly DragonChild:** Whoa, so many constructive comments all at once. Many thanks! I'll answer chapter by chapter:

Chapter 1: proper formatting of dialog continues to elude me... I promise I'll keep working on it. Thanks for saying my writing has improved...I still think my reach exceeds my grasp where this story is concerned.

Chapter 2: Already fixed Madam Pomfrey's actions to make it clear that putting the book in the drawer was deliberate. You probably still won't know why, though, being from a more sophisticated generation. She suspected that James Potter and friends might sneak back to have a closer look... LOL kids that age being very interested in information about sex, and back in the seventies, we had to be really creative to find out _anything _on the topic. I won't tell you the pathetic lengths we went to since I doubt you'd believe it.

Chapter 3: The Central Park precinct of the NYPD confirms that there are wascally wabbits in the park... you'd be amazed at the variety of critters that can survive in the city.

Chapter 4: I see your point and will do something about it eventually.

Chapter 5: ROTFL I think it's another generation gap. Lupin is described a couple of times by JKR (who is even older than me!) as "very young". I picture him as nice-looking, though prematurely grey. Kind of an average guy when he isn't looking "ill and exhausted"... which JKR seems to portray him as most of the time, while I've taken the liberty of only making him suffer that much in the week or so after the full moon.

Just as an example, my husband is 39, average looking and has a _lot_ of grey, and he still gets hit on now and then. I think it's probably healthy for a teen or twenty-something to believe Lupin is far too old for any hanky-panky, though! LOL But be warned, I intend to give him his fair share of romance.


	8. St Ghislain

_St. Ghislain, Louisiana, morning, July 18, 1997_

Remus got up early and followed his nose to a diner on St. Ghislain's main street. An ancient air-conditioning unit high on the wall wheezed a sullen, tepid breeze. Outside, it was already starting to heat up. He eased onto a low stool at the long counter and ordered the breakfast special. The middle-aged waitress reminded him of Madam Pomfrey in an obscure way, with her jaunty white cap and starched apron. Her hair was dyed in several unlikely shades of blond—the Muggle style known as 'frost and tip'—and her skirt ended just above the knee. Remus smiled to himself. Poppy Pomfrey would be scandalized at the thought of revealing so much as a glimpse of ankle. The waitress flirted with him extravagantly each time she passed by. At one point she tipped extra sausage patties and baking powder biscuits onto his plate. "You look like you could manage a couple extra meals under your belt, cher."

"Thank you very much, ma'am."

"Ooh, don't you be calling me ma'am," she squealed. "You make me feel old." Her voice was a honeyed drawl, thick as pancake syrup.

"Oh, no, miss," Remus protested straight-faced, playing along. "I'm sure you can't be a day over twenty."

She simpered and fluffed her hair. "What's that accent I hear? You English?"

"Yes, ma'am—miss."

"Come all the way to see the werewolves, I expect." Remus nodded. "Biggest tourist draw in Lafayette Parish," she said with considerable civic pride. "The Croteau Brothers Carnival, that is. Bigger than the Acadian Village, bigger than the racetrack over in Carencro. It's good for business, especially when the full moon falls on a weekend, ain't that right, Claude?"

"Mm-hm." Claude slammed two more plates down on the pass-through window ledge and turned back to his work without deigning to comment further. The waitress bustled away to serve the early morning crowd of truck drivers and oil workers, then came back and leaned on the counter beside Remus.

"So, you believe in the werewolves, or you one of them _skeptics_?" Her tone made it clear what she thought of anyone who would dare to express incredulity when it came to the biggest tourist draw in Lafayette Parish.

"Oh, I believe in werewolves." Remus chuckled. "I happen to be one myself," he said recklessly. The words slipped out before he could even think of stopping them. _Oh good lord, where did that urge come from? _

"Hunh," grunted an old man in a green baseball cap seated to his left. Remus' rash pronouncement didn't produce any other notice from the diner's patrons, but the waitress seemed entranced.

"Come all the way from England to find others of your own kind. Ain't that exciting? Ain't that exciting, Claude? Why, it's just like that movie, _American Werewolf in London_!"

Claude leaned against the pass-through window ledge and lit a cigarette, pausing in his work to take a long, luxurious drag. He blew the smoke out through his nose. "It ain't nothing like that movie, Marlene. It's the exact _opposite_, seeing as he ain't American and he ain't in London... Now is he?" And with that ungrammatical but irrefutable bit of logic, he stubbed out his cigarette and returned to his labors over the eight-burner industrial range.

Marlene beamed at Remus, undaunted. "You ought to go on out to the carnival, introduce yourself," she suggested.

Remus was appalled at the notion. _What have I gotten myself into? _"I-I don't think—"

Caught up in her plans for him, she chattered on while he stammered helplessly. "You got a rental car, honey? No? Joe here'll give you a lift, won't you, Joe? It's right on his way," she assured Remus. "He'll be happy to give you a lift."

"Hunh," the green baseball cap wearer grunted inconclusively. He pulled some crumpled bills from his pocket and rose from his stool.

"Go on, cher, it's right on his way." Marlene shooed Remus away from the counter. She was a force of nature, unstoppable once she'd decided his future for him. Remus reached for his wallet, but she shook her head. "You go get a job with the carnival, cher, then you come back and give us your first autograph, ain't that right, Claude?"

"Mm-hm."

"Oh, no, I'm not looking for a job with—" Remus tried to protest. _Good god, transforming for an audience? Not if I were starving to death. _

"Breakfast's on the house," Marlene said firmly.

——————

_Hogwarts Library, November 30, 1976 (Sixth Year at Hogwarts—"First Kiss")_

Miranda chewed her lower lip as she carefully copied Celtic runes onto her parchment. Remus found it incredibly distracting. He turned back to his own parchment. _Concentrate... _Highlights glowed in her dark curls as she bent over the textbook. _Ancient Runes,_ Remus reminded himself. _We're studying Ancient Runes... _Finished with her writing, Miranda set her quill down and stretched, arching her back, unconsciously accenting the curve of her breasts under her blouse. Remus abandoned all hope of finishing his homework.

They'd gone back to their old relationship, studying together in secret. That was the problem, from Remus' point of view—it was the exact same relationship as before. Strictly platonic. She'd admitted to wanting more, hadn't she, when she'd tried to make him jealous? He knew she wanted more, could sense her attraction to him every time they sat down across the study table from one another. It was driving him crazy. _Dammit, if she'd just make the first move! I'd do it myself, _he thought distractedly, _if only I had the slightest idea what to do._

"This is so cool, watch." Miranda waved her wand and white ribbons of light streamed from the tip, forming the Celtic runes in the air between them. "You try it."

As the glowing letters faded, inspiration struck. "I haven't been able to figure that spell out, Prosper. Show me again, would you?"

"It's easy, just hold your wand loosely." She demonstrated again. Remus copied her, deliberately making his own letters sloppy, running them together. "No, that's not right. It's not script. You have to give a little flick of the wrist after each rune, see, to separate them."

Again, Remus copied her motions with his own wand, but jabbed instead of flicked. His own ribbons of light spilled out, illegible. "I just can't do it," he said, all innocence.

"I can't believe it's giving you so much trouble. No, no, that's even worse! You're hopeless," Miranda chastised as he continued scribbling in the air between them. She got up and came around the table, bending over him, covering his wand hand with hers.

_Oh my god. Dark chocolate... _Remus didn't have to pretend incompetence this time; nothing from the neck up seemed to be working.

"Just relax," Miranda told him, her voice husky. She guided his hand, casting the runes in the air. They shimmered there, perfectly formed, as Remus turned toward her.

"I think I've got the idea now." Their faces were just inches apart. He could feel her heart pounding. Her fingers tightened over his own. Remus closed his eyes, leaned forward, and kissed her.

———————

_Bayou Gabriel, Louisiana, July 18, 1997_

Joe dropped him off at the entrance to Croteau Brothers Carnival three miles out of town. "Thanks," Remus called.

"Hunh," came the now-familiar reply from the cab.

Lafayette Parish's biggest tourist attraction didn't look like much, as far as Remus was concerned. The parking lot consisted of a huge grassy field. A Ferris wheel and other amusement park rides loomed in the near distance. He started down the dirt road, resisting the impulse to pant in the stifling heat. The place appeared to be deserted. Padlocks hung from chains looped around the gates of the metal fences surrounding the rides. Booths were shuttered and locked. _Well, it is barely ten o'clock,_ Remus thought. The carnival didn't open for business until four in the afternoon.

Beyond the rides and games stood a tall wooden fence, garish paint peeling slightly under the punishing sun. There was no gate here, just a ticket booth flanked by a pair of turnstiles. A pile of metal crowd control fences were stacked neatly to one side. Remus slipped through a turnstile and his stomach clenched at the sight in front of him. Cages. Eight by twelve foot rectangles composed of iron bars, raised off the ground on wheeled trailers. Remus counted seven cages, arranged in two rows. _Barbaric! _The truth hit him like a Stupefying Charm. _They transform here, in these cages... In front of a crowd of cheering Muggle tourists... _A sour taste rose in his throat and he turned away, trembling involuntarily. Despite the brutal heat, Remus felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. His entire body tensed for flight. Inside his mind, the wolf whimpered, urging him to run. He kept control of himself with an effort and walked swiftly out of the park.

——————

Author's notes: Thank you so much to Aly DragonChild, Telos, Moni Jane, LaSorelli, SilverTrinity, Unforgettable, bienert, and invisible2u for the kind reviews. I read, re-read, and gloat over them all in the most pathetic way imaginable.

**To AlyDragonChild: **Remus let his friends get away with a lot, didn't he? Much as I like the guy, he was a lousy choice for a prefect. Not that he wasn't conscientious, but because he wasn't able or willing to rein in Sirius and James.

**To Unforgettable: ** Thanks!

**To invisible2u:** No problem. You don't have to sign out—I know you're reading. Always nice to hear from you.


	9. Close Encounters

_Evening Patrol of the Hogwarts corridors, Monday, September 5, 1977 (Seventh Year at Hogwarts)_

She was hiding behind the statue of Uric the Oddball. Remus hid a grin. He'd heard her soft breathing as soon as he rounded the corner. He pretended surprise when Miranda leaped out into the dimly-lit corridor and grabbed him in a fierce hug. "Miranda! I thought we were meeting in the library tomorrow evening."

"I couldn't wait. I missed you so much, Remus."

He pulled her into the shadows behind the statue and took her in his arms. "I missed you too." Long minutes passed in near silence as the young couple kissed. "You have to get back to your dorm," Remus said finally. "Gryffindor's going to kick Slytherin's arse in quidditch this year," he teased. "You're going to be embarrassed enough at the Leaving Feast without losing your House any points for being out of bounds."

"Oh, you wish. Pettigrew and Black already cost _your_ House ten points for setting off dung bombs in the library."

"They did not!"

Miranda smirked, triumphant. "You're not up to date, Lupin. Professor Garamond caught them right after dinner." She kissed him once more and was gone.

_Damn, _Remus thought, amused in spite of himself. _First day of the term and we've already lost ten points! Those two will never learn._

——————

_Hogwarts Library, November 1, 1977 (Seventh Year at Hogwarts)_

"Hogsmeade visit this weekend," Miranda said. "I wish we could go together."

_Lucky me, it's also the full moon,_ Remus thought. He looked on the bright side; it wouldn't stop him from going to Hogsmeade. He could enjoy the day out and still get back to the castle in plenty of time for Madam Pomfrey to escort him through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. "Why don't we go together?" he said impulsively. "Who cares what anyone thinks?"

"I can't. You don't know what it's like in Slytherin House, Remus. I might as well leave school. They'd all turn against me."

"You'd still have friends. Me and Peter... And Sirius and James and Lily," he added with less certainty.

Miranda snorted. "Sure. Lily Evans, Head Girl, friends with a Slytherin? You're naïve, Remus. Evans thinks everyone in my House is a follower of the Dark Lord."

Remus frowned. He hadn't heard that title used before. "You mean... Voldemort."

Miranda gasped. "Don't say that name!"

"Dumbledore says fear of the name just increases fear of the thing itself."

"Well, my father says the Dark Lord is going to take over all of Europe."

"Does your father think that's a good idea, Miranda?" Remus kept his voice very quiet.

She looked away, tracing one finger over some graffiti carved into the tabletop. "I don't know what he thinks about it."

He could smell the bitter tang of fear. Fear, and falsehood. "Do _you_ think it's a good idea?"

Miranda glanced around nervously. "No!" she whispered. "Of course not. V-Voldemort's a maniac!" She looked stunned, amazed that she'd pronounced the dreaded name. After a moment she took a deep breath, unrolled a parchment and picked up her quill. Remus realized he'd been holding his breath too and let it out in a sigh. The tense moment had passed. He reached across the table and gently touched Miranda's cheek. She turned her face to the side and kissed his palm, then pushed him away. "We've got a two-foot essay on Jupiter's moons to finish by Wednesday," she said briskly. "Let's get to work."

Remus hid his grin behind his own parchment. _We haven't gotten too much work done lately, that's for sure. _For perhaps fifteen minutes the silence between them was broken only by the sounds of quill pens scratching on parchment. Then Remus reached out and playfully tugged on a lock of Miranda's hair, letting it curl around his finger. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Her eyes glowing with mischief, she tickled him under the chin with her feather quill. "I do wish we could go to Hogsmeade together," she repeated.

Remus had a moment of inspiration. "We could meet there, behind the Shrieking Shack."

"You're such a Gryffindor." Miranda pulled away and started stuffing her books into her satchel. "That place is dangerous. Even the Bloody Baron doesn't dare go near it," she said, naming the formidable patron ghost of Slytherin House.

"That's why it's perfect," Remus insisted. "Everyone avoids it— it would be totally private." Miranda looked up. His heart pounded as their eyes met and both realized the full implication of an afternoon of complete privacy. "I love you," he reminded her.

She brushed a stray lock of hair back from his face. "Remus, those ghosts at the Shrieking Shack, they're way worse than Peeves."

"The ghosts won't bother you. Not if you're with me." Miranda still looked skeptical. "It so happens that they're my ancestors," Remus improvised. "They'll obey me." _It's not really a lie,_ he thought. _After all, I_ am _the one who's responsible for those 'ghosts'._

"Okay," she replied slowly. "I trust you, Remus."

His heart gave a lurch. _I should tell her the truth. _Miranda chose that moment to lean over and kiss him. The taste of her mouth on his was more than enough to silence his conscience.

"I always wind up stopping in the Three Broomsticks with Stebbins and Jugson," she told him breathlessly when they finally broke apart. "I'll meet you at the Shrieking Shack as soon as I can get away."

"I'll be waiting for you."

The rest of the week passed in an agony of indecision. Remus had never anticipated the full moon with eagerness before. At the same time, he dreaded it worse than ever. He wanted greater intimacy with Miranda, longed for it, but the prospect made his stomach lurch with fear every time it crossed his mind. _She'll see my scars. She'll find out what I am._ He pictured confronting her with the truth. James, Sirius, and Peter had found out, and they'd still accepted him. He tried to imagine telling Miranda and seeing her react the same way they had. _She says she loves me... Oh god, no. I can't do it!... But I have to. _

He made up his mind to tell Miranda on Wednesday evening, but then Sirius needed help with his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework and by the time Remus got to their secret spot in the library, Miranda had already gone. Remus found himself trembling, literally weak with relief at the reprieve, yet at the same time ashamed of himself. _I'll tell her first thing on Saturday, as soon as I see her, _he thought, not sure whether he was lying to himself or not.

——————

_St. Ghislain, Louisiana, afternoon, July 18, 1997_

By the time Remus got back to the motel, his long-sleeved shirt was soaked with sweat. He took a cold shower and changed clothes, wishing, as he often did in the summertime, that he could roll up his sleeves like a normal human being. _Not a good idea at all. Not here! Too many people would know exactly what the scars on my arms signify._ He was deeply regretting his inexplicable confession at the diner that morning.

Remus strolled across the street to the local McDonald's and sat in air-conditioned comfort while he pondered his next move. Away from the horror of those iron cages, his reaction seemed foolish. _So they transform in public. That's their choice—how they make their living, apparently. Who am I to pass judgment? _he reasoned.

His mind kept returning to the two rows of cages. Seven of them. Seven werewolves. In the course of his life, Remus had only met a few others like himself. Understandably, British lycanthropes were reluctant to admit to their condition. Most he'd met— like the patient at St. Mungo's when Arthur Weasley had been injured— were recently bitten victims, frightened and desperate for someone, anyone, to reassure them that they would be able to resume normal lives. Remus shook his head ruefully. _If being shunned and feared is normal for you, sure, you can live a normal life. _

His curiosity about the American werewolves hadn't been satisfied by his brief reconnaissance of the carnival, Remus decided at last. He would go back that evening when the attraction was open for business, and take another look. _Although I have no idea how I'd pick a werewolf out in a crowd. _Martin Croteau's image on the bulletin board in Times Square flashed across his mind. _Him, I'd recognize. But the others?... _

Absorbed in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice the big silver pick-up truck idling in the parking space in front of his motel room. _Hunh, _Remus thought in passable imitation of old Joe from the diner. _Well, it's nothing to do with me._ He started to pass by, unconcerned. The passenger side door opened, blocking his way. A man stepped down from the cab and stood facing him. Remus assessed him in the hot, shimmering light of the parking lot, not sensing any hostility, still not feeling any reason for concern. The stranger towered over him by at least half a foot. Heavy muscles bunched under his shirt. Mentally, Remus shrugged. The full moon was in less than three days; it didn't really matter how big the man was. It was doubtful he could pose any threat to Remus, not then. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked the stranger politely.

"Remus Lupin?" The man's voice was harsh, guttural.

"Er, yes." He'd checked into the motel under his real name—there was no reason not to.

"Stupid pansy-ass name," the stranger grated, an unpleasant, mocking grin spreading across his face. "You're coming with us."

"I think not." The big stranger's hand shot out to grab him. Just as quickly, Remus blocked, batting his arm away. At least, that's what should have happened. His arm thrust out and made contact with the stranger's arm, jolting against rock-solid muscle. The arm didn't budge. Before Remus knew what was happening, the bigger man had twisted his wrist, levering his arm up behind his back. He shoved Remus roughly into the truck.

"I said, you're coming with us."

——————

Author's notes: Thanks for reading, everyone. Speedy updates brought to you by the seven inches of snow which canceled school for the past two days.

Hello again, **Aly DragonChild**. Thanks for the encouragement! I think you must have an awfully good memory! In response to your comments, I'll try to keep Remus acting his age. Teehee. I'm afraid I can't provide a whole lot of Marauders... I know there are some great fics about them, but the fact that two died young and one turned evil just kinda kills my interest in them.


	10. In the Den of the Wolf

_En route to Bayou Gabriel, Louisiana, July 18, 1997_

It took several long seconds for Remus to take in the reality of his situation. By then, the truck was pulling out of the motel parking lot. The big man now sitting to his right was a werewolf. Remus cursed himself for not noticing the signs that were obvious in hindsight. Nearly every inch of the man's exposed skin was scarred. He had a wild thatch of hair that swept back from his forehead, curled over his ears and down his neck—and it was completely grey, although the man couldn't be too much older than Remus himself. The most telling sign was his inhuman strength. The big man had tossed him into the truck as easily as if he were a rag doll.

The driver also had a muscular build. Now that he was alert to it—_too late_, Remus berated himself—he could see the tell-tale signs that this man, too, was a lycanthrope. His exposed forearms bore traces of old scars and his dark hair was liberally sprinkled with grey. He spoke in a slow, gentle drawl as he turned the truck onto the main street.

"Just relax, Mr. Lupin, we're just going for a little ride."

Remus' fingers twitched involuntarily, an aborted reach for a wand that wasn't in his pocket. Spells flashed through his mind, a reflex of his training, and right now, utterly useless. He had no magic to deal with these Muggles. _And they're not ordinary Muggles,_ he thought. _They are werewolves. _Buildings flashed by outside the windshield. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Where are you taking me?"

"Shut up, asshole."

The driver tutted. "That fellow on your right is my esteemed colleague Mr. Leon Jeansson," he informed Remus, "known to his many friends and admirers as Cujo. You don't want to get on his bad side," he warned. "Only problem is, he ain't got no good side." The driver chortled, amused by his own wit. Cujo snorted. "My name's Waylon," the driver continued in good humor. "Waylon Croteau. Most folks call me Ti, for obvious reasons." Remus had no idea what he meant.

"Where are you taking me?" he repeated. "What do you want?"

"Boss wants to talk to you," Cujo growled. "Now you both shut up."

They rode on in silence. Remus was seething. _They're werewolves, and they're taking me to the carnival,_ he reasoned. He'd recognized the driver's surname. _Croteau... he must be Martin Croteau's... younger brother? Nephew? Is Martin the boss they're referring to? _Remus couldn't see any possibility for escape. Mentally, he snarled. The werewolf sitting on his right, the one called Cujo, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. In the close confines of the truck cab, his stench filled Remus' nostrils, a musky, animal odor that set Remus on edge. The wolf within bayed, wanting to fight. Remus knew it would be folly to try. _He could break me in half._ The thought rankled. He spent the remainder of the short ride out of town trying to stay calm and silence the angry predator in his mind.

Waylon Croteau pulled into the dirt road leading up to the carnival. They drove straight past the rides and booths. Remus noted that the place was now filled with activity, workers getting ready for the carnival to open. Croteau drove on through the high fence and past the cages. Beyond was another high fence, this one with a gate and a sign—Private Property. The truck rolled to a stop in front of a long, low building—some sort of barn or shed, Remus thought. Waylon and Cujo hopped out. A wild notion of fleeing into the woods flitted through Remus' mind—_I should at least be able to outrun them. _He abandoned the idea. _This is their territory. _They'd be familiar with every trail, whereas Remus would soon be lost, if he even made it into the swamp. He suppressed a snarl as Cujo grabbed his arms and kicked his legs apart. With apologetic murmurings, Waylon searched his pockets and patted him down for hidden weapons, even checking his shoes. Then Cujo took his elbow in a firm grip and guided him through a door. They proceeded down a narrow hallway and through another door. Remus got the impression of a well-appointed office, surprisingly luxurious after the utilitarian exterior of the building.

A man looked up from his seat at a large mahogany desk. Remus recognized him immediately. It was the werewolf whose transformation he'd watched over and over on the side of a building in Times Square. "Mr. Lupin. Please, sit down." At a glance from Martin Croteau, Cujo released Remus' arm and stepped back a pace.

Remus was in no mood to cooperate. He folded his arms and glared down at Croteau. "I don't appreciate the strongarm tactics, Mr. Croteau."

"You represent a threat to my family and my business, Mr. Lupin. Now, I'm willing to entertain the notion that your presence here on Bayou Gabriel is completely innocent, but you'll have to convince me. Why don't you just sit down and we'll talk things over like gentlemen?" His dark eyes met Remus' light ones, calm and cold. Like Severus Snape, the man betrayed no emotion.

Reluctantly, Remus sank into one of the leather chairs drawn up in front of the desk. "What do you need to know?"

"Are you a wizard?"

Remus couldn't help it; he blinked. That was the last question he would have expected Croteau to ask him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"He's lying—" Cujo growled.

Croteau made a small gesture and the big werewolf fell silent. "The potion, please, Waylon."

Remus started out of his seat as Waylon stepped from behind and to his left and placed a bottle of wolfsbane potion on Croteau's desk. "That's my property!"

Cujo slammed him back into the chair. "Just give me an excuse, asshole..." This time, Croteau didn't intervene.

Remus hastily suppressed the urge to go for the bigger man's throat. _That's just what he wants. He's trying to provoke me into a fight. _One corner of his mind noted that he still didn't smell any hatred or anger from Cujo. The thought didn't reassure him. _Great. It's nothing personal; he's just habitually this violent. Lucky me, _Remus thought sarcastically.

Croteau picked up the potion and unstoppered it. Smoke, acrid and bad-smelling, rose from the bottle neck. Croteau's nostrils flared and he curled his lip in distaste as he pushed the cork back into place. "How is it that you have in your possession a magic potion?"

All his life, he'd been taught to maintain the secrecy surrounding the wizarding world. The impulse to make up some sort of excuse was strong. _But these men are all werewolves—magical creatures in their own right... _And they could sense deception, just as he could. "That's a medicinal potion that I take to combat the dementia that accompanies transformation into a werewolf. Wolfsbane potion," Remus explained, trying to keep his voice calm. "Surely you've at least heard of it? It's harmless."

"It's poison." Croteau's voice was flat.

"Not really," Remus said patiently. "Yes, _aconitum vulparia_ in its natural form is poisonous, but the magic used to produce the potion—"

Cujo cut him off. "I thought you said you weren't a wizard. Told you he was lying, Martin." The big werewolf strolled over and lounged against the side of the desk. He picked up the bottle and began to toss it from hand to hand.

"Put that down," Remus snapped.

"Make me, faggot. You little—"

The wolf within was already rising to the challenge, propelling Remus out of his seat. He was more than ready to follow the monster's baser instincts, no matter that his conscious mind insisted that he was no match for the bigger man. He closed the space between them in a second, punching Cujo as hard as he could. The next few moments passed in a blur of rage as the two werewolves grappled, punching, snarling and cursing. Martin and Waylon Croteau separated the combatants with some difficulty.

Remus found himself shoved back into his chair, Waylon's hands firmly on his shoulders. "Calm down, calm down," the younger man panted.

Martin and Cujo were squared off, looking as though they were about to continue the fight Remus had started. Remus could smell anger from Cujo now, anger and defiance, a volatile odor like spilled Erumpent oil. Martin remained calm, though his hair was rumpled and his shirt had come untucked in the struggle. Cujo's fists were raised. "Go get one of the men to clean that up, please, Leon," Martin said coolly. Remus realized with a sickening lurch of his stomach that the bottle of wolfsbane potion had been broken during the brief scuffle.

Cujo maintained his fighting stance. "I ain't taking no shit from—" Martin's lips parted, baring his teeth in a soundless snarl. The bigger man responded to the feral gesture and backed down, lowering his hands to his sides. "I'll deal with you later," he grated at Remus as he stepped out the door.

Martin tucked his shirt in and ran a hand through his hair, restoring his appearance. _Just a normal, civilized businessman._ As he resumed his seat, he appeared as calm and emotionless as before. Remus wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, probed gingerly with his tongue at a tooth that Cujo had knocked loose. _It will heal by morning,_ he decided. His ribs were bruised, but no serious damage had been done. _Nothing serious... _Remus almost laughed. _If I were human they'd be calling an ambulance right now. _He looked up and met Martin's cold gaze. _Or maybe not. _

"We don't welcome wizards with open arms, Mr. Lupin. Five years ago we had trouble with one of your kind, a European, a self-styled sorcerer who wanted our blood as a potion ingredient."

"Yeah, we're not running a magical Walgreens here, you know." Waylon's laughter cut off when Martin gave him a level look.

"We aren't unreasonable. You'll be treated the same as any other werewolf in the parish. You'll spend the next two days as our guest here at Bayou Gabriel. You'll be welcome to stay as long as you need to, after the full moon, to recover. You won't be harmed, as long as you pose no threat to my family. Do you understand?"

"I understand that kidnapping and assault are against the law, even in Lafayette Parish, Mr. Croteau." _Good lord, no one back in Britain even knows I'm here. _The sudden realization made his defiance seem empty. _They could kill me and bury my body in the swamp,_ he thought hopelessly.

"You won't be harmed," Martin repeated, as though reading Remus' mind, "unless you give me good reason to. But you are a werewolf, Mr. Lupin. And in Lafayette Parish, in all matters concerning werewolves, _I am the law_." His voice remained soft and calm, but inside Remus' mind the wolf instinctively rolled over and exposed its throat. It was an effort for Remus to meet Martin Croteau's gaze. He managed it, feeling sweat start to trickle between his shoulder blades. The tension was interrupted, mercifully, by a knock at the door. "Come in," Martin called, breaking eye contact.

A young man in coveralls entered, pushing a cart of cleaning supplies. "Shit," he breathed, eyeing the spilled potion on the floor. "What is that stuff ? It's eaten through the carpet, Mr. Croteau!"

"Just get it cleaned up any way you can, Matt, thanks. I'll have the carpet replaced." Martin reached for a phone on the desk and dialed. "One moment, please, gentlemen." He was, once again, the image of a successful businessman, calm and unruffled as he carried on a conversation in French. There was no trace of the monster who had just locked eyes with Remus in a primal battle for dominance. Martin laughed softly in response to something said on the other end of the line. _"Oui... je t'aime aussi, chère." _He hung up the phone. "Waylon, take Mr. Lupin down to the house, please," he said courteously.

Remus noted that Martin Croteau always spoke quietly, was always scrupulously polite. But now he could sense the wolf inside the man, a feral, violent presence lurking just below the polished facade that Croteau maintained so carefully. It made the hackles rise on the monster that prowled within his own mind.

"Mr. Lupin, my wife will be bringing you some spare clothing and toiletries. I apologize for the inconvenience. Your own belongings will be returned to you once I am assured they aren't dangerous." Waylon opened the door and stood waiting for Remus to precede him into the hallway. The interview was clearly over. Wordlessly, Remus rose to his feet and left the office.


	11. Risk

_Bayou Gabriel, Louisiana, July 18, 1997_

Waylon Croteau dogged Remus' heels as they exited the building. "Just get in the truck, Mr. Lupin, and we'll go on down to the house." Remus shrugged and climbed up into the passenger side of the pick-up; he couldn't see any other option. Waylon let out a loud sigh, clearly relieved at being obeyed. The younger man put the truck in gear and they bumped down a rutted dirt drive past another low shed, some barns, and the hulks of rusting farm equipment.

The land sloped down to the edge of the bayou. Remus caught glimpses of open water through towering live oaks draped with Spanish moss. "There's the old homestead," Waylon said unnecessarily as they rounded a bend. The massive bulk of a sagging plantation-style house loomed in front of them, buttressed on both sides by a series of haphazard later additions. The rambling white edifice was in need of a fresh coat of paint. Thick vines of some sort grew rampant over the facade, casting the porch into shadow. A few sparse patches of grass struggled for survival in the dusty front yard.

Waylon cursed softly as he parked the truck next to a dark-colored sedan. "Dammit, the preacher's visiting. Again. This is my cousin Odalie's place," he explained. "Odalie's all right, just a little...eccentric. Religious, you know?" Remus shook his head; he didn't know. Waylon opened the driver's side door. "Well, come on in."

As they crossed the barren yard and climbed the porch steps, Remus noticed for the first time just how short Waylon was. The top of the man's head barely reached Remus' shoulder. Despite his broad shoulders and the sprinkling of grey in his curly black hair, he looked very young, an impression that was only reinforced by his lack of stature.

He followed Waylon's lead, slipping silently through the front door and into an entrance hallway that stretched to the back of the house. A quiet murmur of conversation drifted from somewhere to their right. "Come on," Waylon urged in a whisper, leading Remus away from the sound and through a series of open rooms. The décor was outdated, homey and comfortable rather than stylish. "Kind of small, isn't it?" Waylon noted with mock concern. "Don't worry, I think Odalie will be able to find a spare room to put you up in. We all come here before the full moon. Just you wait, by tomorrow afternoon the whole pack of us'll be here."

_The whole pack... _Remus was starting to relax in spite of himself. Waylon was likable and non-threatening. Talking with him rekindled the original excitement Remus had felt in New York, when he'd first conceived of the possibility of meeting others of his own kind. "All seven of you," he prompted.

Waylon looked confused for a moment. "Seven... Oh, that's right, seven are going to perform this month. Nah, there'll be more like twenty. Not all werewolves, of course. Most of the Croteau family will show up. It's a big deal." He laughed. "Y'all want to see the werewolves? We're a motley crew... Let me start by showing you Odalie's museum."

He led Remus into a narrow room with French doors and stiff old-fashioned parlor furniture. The walls were hung with paintings and framed photographs covered nearly every flat surface. "Here it is. Odalie's museum," Waylon grinned. "Some ancient history here. Croteaus have lived on this bayou since seventeen ninety-six. Werewolves in nearly every generation."

Remus blinked. "You mean... You were born this way," he blurted.

"Uh-huh," Waylon said cheerfully. "There haven't been any werewolf attacks in Lafayette Parish since, oh, way back. During the Civil War, I guess. I take it you were bitten?"

"When I was a child." Remus tried not to let his amazement show. He'd known, on an intellectual level, that lycanthropy could be passed down from father to child. Looking at Waylon's open, smiling face, the reality came as a shock. _Good lord, he's had the curse since birth... and Martin and Cujo have as well._

Waylon had turned to rummage among the memorabilia, giving Remus a chance to recover his composure. "These old boys here are Leon and Louis," he said, holding up a motionless black-and-white Muggle photograph of two men standing in front of a carnival booth. "My cousin Martin's father and uncle...they started the original Croteau Brothers Carnival back in the nineteen-twenties." The man on the left stood a good six inches taller than his brother, massive shoulders straining the seams of his suit coat.

Remus peered closer. "He looks just like Cujo." _Judging by the expression on his face, the old man probably had the same sunny personality, too._

"Leon Senior was Cujo's father. Look, here's a picture of our boy when he was just a tyke." Waylon chuckled and showed Remus a picture of a teenaged girl holding a tow-headed infant on one hip. "Cute little cherub, wasn't he?"

Remus shook his head. It was hard to imagine any child growing up to become the hateful, over-aggressive werewolf he'd met earlier. He indicated the girl, a slender waif with wide eyes and a luminous smile. "Cujo's mother?"

"His older sister—Odalie. She painted most of these." Waylon waved his arm, drawing Remus' attention to the artwork that covered the walls.

They were all portraits, he realized, some of people, some of wolves. _Werewolves, in both their forms, _he mused, circling the room to get a better look at them. Remus stopped in front of a diptych done in acrylics. One side depicted a young blond girl frolicking in a sunny, flower-studded field of grass, a wolf loping beside her, tongue lolling in a canine grin. The other side was painted in dark tones and showed the same girl crouching in a corner of the canvas, head bowed. Above her, life-sized, the head and shoulders of the wolf reared, howling at the full moon. The artist had tried to capture the dual nature a lycanthrope was forced to assume. "These are really quite good," he murmured.

"Here's mine," Waylon said with pride. He indicated a framed charcoal drawing. The young man drawn in thick, bold strokes was laughing and carrying a beaming toddler on his shoulders.

"Your son?" Remus raised his eyebrows. _You're getting old and stodgy,_ he chided himself. _James was a father at twenty._

"That's my middle boy. Travis. Got three sons," Waylon grinned, amused at Remus' surprise.

"And Travis is a werewolf, too," he hazarded.

"Uh-huh." Waylon shrugged. "It's a risk we were willing to take."

_Dear god. How could anyone condemn a child to that kind of hell? Do they display him in a cage too? _The younger werewolf stiffened and Remus could smell his anger, filling the air between them with its coppery tang. _He can read my emotions as easily as I can read his_.

"Travis is only five," Waylon said coldly. "He isn't part of the exhibit, if that's what you're thinking. He's still too young to transform completely. My wife sits up with him, during the full moon. It makes it easier for him, helps him to stay calm..."

Remus nodded, chastened. "I understand. My dad used to do the same for me." He took a deep breath and tried to suppress the condemnation he was feeling. _I do _not _want to make an enemy of this man. _"I apologize, Waylon. I really don't know anything about how you live, here in the States. I grew up with the understanding that I could never have children."

"The lycanthropy isn't always a sure thing, you know. It even skips a generation or two, sometimes," Waylon said, a touch defensively. "My other two boys are just normal kids."

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, voices could be heard in the entranceway. "Why thank you, Miz Jeansson. I'll call again tomorrow," came a man's soft voice.

Remus reflected that privacy would be very difficult to achieve in a house full of werewolves. _Not while the moon is waxing full..._

Waylon sighed and jerked his head toward the hall. "That's the Reverend Simms. Odalie's got this weird thing about religion," he explained, clearly embarrassed. "She didn't used to be this way... Well, you'll see for yourself," he muttered. "Come on and meet the old girl."

——————

_Gryffindor boys' dormitory, Friday evening, November 5, 1977 (Seventh Year at Hogwarts)_

"A Hogsmeade weekend _and_ a full moon," Sirius said gleefully, flopping down on the foot of Remus' bed and spilling the last dregs of a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans across the coverlet. "I mean, I know it's rough for you, Moony..."

"Don't worry about it." Remus selected a white bean, sniffed it experimentally, and tossed it back on the pile. "Eew, tripe. Why must you always save the questionable ones for last?" He turned to watch Peter and James setting up a game of chess on Peter's bed. "Actually, James, I wanted to talk to you about Saturday. I was thinking of staying here at the castle, maybe borrowing your invisibility cloak?"

"Sure, Remus," James said instantly. His eyes were alight with curiosity. "What are you planning?"

"There are a couple of books in the restricted section I'd like to have a look at, that's all," Remus said, hoping desperately that James wouldn't decide to tag along. It wouldn't be the first time he'd made plans to slip away from his friends to spend time with Miranda, only to have one or more of them decide to join him. "I want to research some Dark Transfiguration spells," he embellished, "but Professor McGonagall won't write me a note. I thought I'd just nip in to the library, have a look, and then take a nap. You know, rest up for Saturday night." _A nap, that's a good one. Way too boring for James. _

Sure enough, James wasn't interested. "Suit yourself," he said. "You know where the cloak is."

"Get plenty of rest. We'll bring you back a load of sweets from Honeydukes," Peter said solicitously. Sirius nodded agreement.

"Thanks, guys." Remus popped a bean into his mouth, not even caring that it was spinach flavored. _Miranda and I will be together tomorrow!_

——————

Author's notes: Thank you all for reading. Many thanks to Aly DragonChild, Sennica01, invisible2u, and Flyingphilosopher for taking the time to review.

**To Sennica01:** "Be afraid to a slight extent, be less afraid than ever before!" LOL glad you're still reading.

**To invisible2u: **Glad you're not finding it boring... there will be new material eventually!

**To Flyingphilosopher: **I see you have a Lupin fic... I'll have to check it out after I've gotten a few more chapters up for this story.

**To Aly DragonChild:** If I were JKR, the 'self-styled sorcerer' would turn out to be a pivotal character in book 3 and you'd be saying, "Ah-hah! I knew he'd be significant when he was first mentioned in book 1!" Alas, I'm not JKR... He's just some random bad guy that will never be seen again.

You're right, I'm deliberately not sticking to the canon portrayal of lycanthropy. If you'd like an exhaustively detailed explanation of why not, click on the 'homepage' link in my bio.

Keep an eye out for answers to your other questions in upcoming chapters. ;)


	12. Revelation

_Saturday morning, Hogsmeade weekend, November 6, 1977 (Seventh Year at Hogwarts)_

Remus entered the secret passage hidden in the statue of the humpbacked witch and made it out into Hogsmeade village before any of the other students had even left the castle. Once safely hidden behind the Shrieking Shack, he neatly folded James' cloak and put it the pocket of his Muggle-style jacket. The weed-choked garden behind the shack was dreary and cold. On the bright side, an overgrown privet hedge and the bulk of the shack itself provided all the privacy he could hope for. After a bit of thought, Remus conjured up a blanket for Miranda and himself... _To sit on._ He couldn't help but consider what else they might end up doing on it. To distract himself, he concentrated on turning the blanket green with silver trim. _It looks more grey than silver,_ he thought, critical. _It will probably be hours before Miranda can get away. _Remus started to pace between a dead rosebush and a clump of rank peonies. _What if she doesn't show up? What if someone else does? Oh dear lord, I hope James doesn't get the idea to bring Lily back here!_

Remus had worn a path in the dirt by the time he heard Miranda's cautious tread. He blushed furiously as her eyes went from him to the blanket he'd conjured. "Slytherin's colors," she smirked. "Very thoughtful of you, Remus." She sat down and patted the ground beside her. Remus sat down nervously. The next moment, Miranda was in his arms, kissing him.

_I have to tell her now,_ he thought. His hands slid under her heavy knitted jumper without waiting for conscious instruction from his brain. _Oh my god, she's not wearing a bra. _Remus pulled her down on top of him, kissing her, stroking her warm, soft skin. His heart pounded as he drank in her heat, her scent. "I love you so much..." He suddenly realized that Miranda was unbuttoning his shirt. "No! Er, I mean, we shouldn't undress... um, in case somebody comes back here..." _Coward! Tell her the truth. _

Miranda smiled at him and stroked his face. "You're shy," she murmured. "Don't be. Remus, I love you."

"I love you, too." Miranda's hands abandoned his shirt front, moved lower. Remus pressed against her. He could feel the hot blood racing just under her skin, her heart beating in time with his own. The wolf inside his mind prowled and snarled in anticipation, heedless of the consequences. _Consequences... _He tried to think clearly. "Er, Miranda? Did you, um, you know? Use a Contraceptive Charm?"

"No..." She pulled him closer, breathless. "Don't worry about it."

He sighed. _Neither one of us is ready for this. _Remus took hold of her wrists, gently disentangling their bodies.

"What's wrong? You're afraid I'll get pregnant?"

"Um, yeah." _Among other things. As if that isn't enough. _"Don't be angry."

Miranda sighed and leaned against him. "I'm not."

They lay still, snuggled together on the hard ground, wrapped in the blanket, her head on his shoulder. "I wish I could show you the woods behind my Mum's house," Remus ventured after a while. "There's a pond with a grindylow in it, and sometimes unicorns come down to drink from the stream." He tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "I used to pet them, when I was a kid." Remus smiled tentatively. "They would still let you."

"But not you?" Miranda punched him lightly on the shoulder. "You never told me there was someone else before me."

Her tone was playful, but Remus could sense the hurt. He shook his head. "There's never been anyone else, Miranda. That's not why. It's because..." His throat closed on the words, refused to let them out. _I'm a monster. A monster, and a coward._

"Because you're a werewolf?" Miranda asked.

His jaw dropped. _She knows!_ Now he was mute with shock.

"That isn't fair," she whispered.

He wasn't sure whether she was speaking of the unicorns' rejection or of his failure to tell her his secret. _She knows! _His mind was frozen, sluggish and stupid, incapable of grasping anything beyond that one awful irrevocable fact. _She knows... Now what?_ Would she reject him too?

Miranda was smiling at him, her eyes very bright. She reached up with one soft, gentle hand and touched his jaw. "Close your mouth, Remus."

He did, then opened it again to blurt out his belated confession. "Miranda, I'm a werewolf—"

"Remus, I know," she giggled.

"Professor Dumbledore arranged it so I could come to school anyway. As long as precautions were taken," he rambled on, completely forgetting the speech he'd rehearsed all week long, but desperate for her to understand. "Madam Pomfrey escorts me here every month, through a secret tunnel, before the moon rises—"

"Remus." Miranda shook her head fondly, exasperated. "I _know_. Come on, do you really think I believed that pathetic lie about the ghosts? 'They're my ancestors,'" she mimicked. "They obey my every command!" Her expression became serious. "The curse doesn't make any difference to me. I love you." With a sigh of contentment, Miranda leaned her head against his chest. Remus wrapped his arms around her and just held her close.

——————

_Odalie Jeansson's residence, Bayou Gabriel, July 18, 1997_

Odalie turned out to be elderly and stooped, a grandmotherly woman dressed in a faded floral housecoat and orthopedic shoes. Opaque beige support hose sagged around her ankles. Her wispy white hair was drawn back in a bun, her gnarled, arthritic fingers a fragile burden in his hand as she greeted him. "Mr. Lupin, I'm so glad to meet you." Hints of the lovely young girl from the faded photograph were still visible in her bright eyes and serene smile. He smiled back, charmed by the warmth and kindness radiating from her.

"Marlene Benoit told me you came all the way from England," she said.

_Marlene... The waitress from the diner. _ "News travels fast," Remus said dryly.

"Please, come on back to the kitchen and have a slice of pie. The good Lord told me I was going to have special visitors today," Odalie remarked, her tone matter of fact, "so I got up early and made a peach pie."

"Peach pie!" Waylon loped ahead of them into a big sunny room at the back of the house. Remus kept pace with the aged werewolf's slower steps. By the time they'd reached the kitchen, Waylon had already helped himself to a large slice of pie. "I see the preacher didn't say no to seconds," he commented disapprovingly around a mouthful of peaches.

"There's plenty for everyone," Odalie said placatingly. "Please, sit down, Mr. Lupin." She bustled about bringing tall glasses of iced tea.

The kitchen, even more than the rest of the house, had a haphazard air about it. A modern electric range was shoved between a chipped porcelain sink and an old-fashioned cast-iron stove. Someone had pulled up the faded, cracked linoleum and had restored the hardwood plank floor beneath to its original beauty—but only on one side of the room. The avocado green refrigerator was nearly hidden under a gallery of children's artwork, held on by brightly-colored plastic magnets in the shape of alphabet letters. The glasses Odalie set on the table were adorned with cartoon characters and the McDonald's logo. The silverware didn't match, but Remus noted with approval that it was all made of stainless steel.

"I suppose Reverend Simms is planning to hold another one of his tent revivals this weekend? Taking up room in the parking lot..."

The tension that had sprung up at the table set Remus on edge. He wondered why Waylon felt the need to bait his elderly cousin.

"The parking lot?" Odalie's voice was as calm as Waylon's had been belligerent. "You mean that big old field? Ti, there's room enough for the carnival patrons and three church meetings in that lot."

"I don't know, Odalie, full moon on a weekend always draws a big crowd."

"Fiddlesticks. Have faith, Ti," she grinned mischievously at him, "the good Lord will provide. Even unto adequate parking."

"Odalie, here, is quite the preacher herself," Waylon informed Remus, rolling his eyes. "She can quote you chapter and verse."

Remus didn't know how he was supposed to respond to that. He tried to keep a neutral expression on his face.

"The word of God gives me comfort," she said mildly. "'Oh Lord, open thou my lips; and my mouth will shew forth thy praise.' I never dreamed of preaching the word of God in all my life, but then one full moon eve eight years ago, He opened my lips."

Remus was spared having to comment by the ringing of the telephone. Odalie rose and went into the hallway to answer it.

"She draws in quite a crowd, I'll give her that," Waylon said. "Mostly religious fanatics like Simms and his flock." He lowered his voice. "The old girl took it hard when Cujo was sent to jail... Voluntary manslaughter," he elaborated. "Cujo killed a man in a barroom brawl—at the dark of the moon, or believe me, he wouldn't have lived to stand trial. Martin would have killed him himself."

Odalie's end of the telephone conversation could be heard in the hallway. "Alice! What a thing to ask!... No, I won't say..." She laughed, a surprisingly girlish sound. "No, they'll just have to see for themselves... Mm-hm... Mm-hm... That's your son Henry's oldest girl, right? Mm-hm... Three tickets... I'll tell Martin."

Waylon went on in a whisper. "It just about killed Odalie when they took him away. She raised that boy like he was her own. Their own daddy never did nothing for either of them—" He fell silent abruptly as they heard the click of the phone receiver being placed back in its cradle.

"That Alice Mouton can just about talk your ear off," Odalie announced as she returned. If she'd overheard Waylon, she gave no sign of it.

"She's the biggest gossip in the parish," Waylon agreed. "You met her husband Joe down at the diner, Remus. You know what I think? I think old Joe's so quiet because Alice never lets him get a word in edgewise."

Remus recalled the monosyllabic old man in the green baseball cap who'd given him a ride in his pick-up truck. _Everyone in town knew I was a werewolf by nine o'clock this morning,_ he thought ruefully. _What have I gotten myself into? _

Odalie patted his hand. "Alice doesn't mean any harm. Remind me to reserve three tickets for her, Ti, her granddaughter is visiting with two friends and they want to see the show." She laughed again. "Marlene told her you were a good-looking man. You should have heard her carry on, like a schoolgirl."

"Don't even think about trying to compete with me, Remus," Waylon mock-threatened. He preened. "I'm the one the women flock to see!"

"Ah, looks like you've got some serious competition now, Ti!" The two cousins laughed, beaming at Remus, drawing him into the circle of their mirth.

He was bewildered by the exchange until he remembered Marlene's advice—to go get a job at the carnival. "Oh, no, there's been a misunderstanding," he chuckled. "I'm not interested in a job. I won't be transforming in public."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees as Odalie and Waylon fell silent. Their faces were stricken. Remus felt a shiver run down his spine. "What's wrong?"

Odalie took his hand in hers. "Remus, dear, all of us transform in public. That's the way it is."

"No... Martin said I had to stay here," Remus stammered, incredulous. "He never said I had to transform in public!" The two werewolves remained silent. He turned to Waylon, lowering his voice with some effort. "The medicine I brought from England makes me safe. I don't even need to be locked up." _I just have to stay calm. I just have to make him understand. _ "I can accept that your customs are different. I respect that. I'm willing to be locked up, if Martin won't trust the potion. But I will not transform in front of an audience."

"You have to." Waylon was shaking his head, rejecting Remus' logic.

_He doesn't get it. I have to make him understand! _ His voice rose in spite of his vow to remain calm. The wolf within began to howl its rage and fear. "I will not be put on display," he snarled. "I will not be put into a cage!"

Odalie gently squeezed his hand. "You need some time to think this over, Remus. Let Waylon show you up to your room—" The words barely registered, drowned out by the howling of the wolf, urging him to fight or flee. He felt the gnarled fingers close over his and startled, barely resisting the compulsion to lash out.

"I just need to step out for some fresh air." He managed to get his voice back under control, to extricate himself from Odalie's grasp without hurting her, to stand without knocking over his chair. "I just need a little air," he repeated numbly. _I need to get out of here! _Remus crossed the kitchen in three strides. He ran down the hall, slammed through the front door and took the porch steps in a bound, escape now the only thought in his mind.

——————

Author's notes: Odalie quotes Psalm 51, verse 15. As always, most sincere thanks to SilverTrinity and invisible2u for reviewing.

Another snow day! Unbelievable. I will attempt to get the next chapter up later this evening. ;)


	13. Stories Shared

_Odalie Croteau's residence, Bayou Gabriel, July 18, 1997_

Remus was halfway across the yard when Waylon stopped him with a flying tackle that threw him to the ground. He kicked out and experienced a moment of satisfaction as his foot connected solidly with the other man's shoulder and he heard a grunt of pain. He half-ran, half-crawled several more steps before Waylon recovered and flung himself at Remus again.

"You're— not— going—anywhere," he panted. They rolled across the dusty yard, kicking and punching. The sound of a car coming down the dirt road didn't register on either man until it pulled to a stop almost on top of them, raising a choking cloud of dust. "Oh, shit. Suzanne," Waylon groaned.

The car door opened. Remus' first impression was of a pair of high-heeled shoes. They stepped out of the car, walked across the dirt, came to a halt in front of him. His eyes traveled up shapely legs clad in sheer stockings. His visual reconnaissance was interrupted when the owner of the legs spoke in a throaty contralto, sounding amused.

"Is everyzing under control, boys, or should I get back in ze car and run over zomebody?"

_She has a French accent like Fleur Delacour's,_ Remus noted absently.

Waylon was scrambling up from the dusty ground. His embarrassment formed a palpable cloud in the humid air, mingled with the car's odors of gasoline, metal, and hot rubber. "Um, Remus and I just had a little misunderstanding, Suzanne. It's all cleared up now, right, Remus?"

Struggling to his own feet, Remus was acutely aware of how disreputable he must look—sweaty, covered in dirt, his shirt half untucked, the side of his face swollen and bruised from his earlier fight with Cujo. He wiped the worst of the grime off onto the leg of his jeans and shook Suzanne's extended hand.

"Suzanne, this is Remus Lupin," Waylon mumbled. "Remus, this is Martin's wife, Suzanne."

_The Alpha Female_, Remus thought, amused despite his embarrassment. Suzanne Croteau gave off a unmistakable aura of command. He and Waylon both instinctively reacted like first-years caught misbehaving by Professor McGonagall. The comparison stopped there. Martin's wife was young, in her early thirties, Remus guessed, and dressed smartly in Muggle-style business attire.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lupin," Suzanne said, still sounding amused. She had presence rather than beauty, with close-cropped dark hair, a prominent nose, and sparkling brown eyes. "I 'ope you and I will get along," she told Remus, with a significant glance toward Waylon, who was trying, surreptitiously, to brush the dust off his clothing.

"Oh, I'm usually very mild-mannered," Remus deadpanned. "I only lose my temper when I've been kidnapped."

"Please don't consider yourself a 'ostage, Mr. Lupin. Think of yourself as our guest," Suzanne said, unruffled by Remus' accusation. "Which reminds me, 'ere are some clothes for you." She turned and produced two bulging plastic shopping bags from the front seat of her car. "I 'ope zey will be acceptable."

"Thank you," Remus said curtly. It was the best he could manage, under the circumstances. His emotions were in turmoil, the wolf within still urging him to run or fight. He was humiliated by his loss of control. _You're in no immediate danger, _he reminded himself. _You can't run off with just the clothes on your back. Even if you did manage to escape, without the potions... _

Odalie approached them, hobbling across the hard-packed dirt of the yard. She shared a quick embrace with Suzanne. "Ti, would you please show Mr. Lupin to his room? Give him the blue bedroom. My arthritis," she apologized to Remus. "I try to avoid the stairs as much as possible. I'm sure you'd like to freshen up before dinner," she said kindly.

Suzanne unsuccessfully covered her laughter with a cough and turned away hastily. "I should move my car."

Remus could feel his face burning as he followed Waylon into the house. "One hell of a first impression you just made," the younger man chided. For once, he wasn't making a joke of the situation.

Remus shrugged, biting back a retort. He'd caused Waylon to lose face in front of Suzanne, he realized. The younger man was humiliated. In the mood he was in at the moment, Remus didn't feel much in the way of remorse.

Waylon showed him to a room on the second floor and left him with an admonishment. "Don't you try running off again, Remus. You'll find yourself locked up a lot sooner than Saturday night if you do."

Remus didn't respond, reasoning that the last thing either of them needed was another fist fight. The stressful predicament he found himself in was making it difficult to suppress the monster within, but Remus was determined not to let it win.

As Waylon's footsteps receded down the stairs, he took in his surroundings. _My prison, _he thought. _It's certainly nice enough._ The room had pale blue walls, an old-fashioned wooden dresser and rocking chair, and a white-painted iron bedstead covered with a flocked chenille spread. The two windows overlooked the back porch, a fact that Remus noted with interest. The bayou stretched beyond, towering moss-draped trees reflected in the still water.

Turning away from the tantalizing glimpse of freedom, Remus took refuge in the bathroom. He stripped and stood under the shower, deliberately keeping his mind blank, letting the water sluice away the tension in his body. The bruises Cujo had inflicted on his face and torso were already fading, turning an ugly yellow-green. They would be gone by morning. His scuffle with Waylon hadn't produced any new marks. _Not on_ me_, at least,_ he chuckled. He remembered landing a solid kick and a couple of hard punches on the younger man and couldn't help feeling a flash of triumph. _Stop it. You let the monster get the better of you; you should be ashamed, _he reminded himself.

Remus turned his attention to washing the dust out of his hair, pleased to find that all the toiletries Suzanne Croteau had bought for him were unscented. _And judging by the packaging, very expensive as well. _Once out of the shower he found that the clothing, likewise, was casual but of very good quality. _She didn't pick these up at the local Wal-Mart, _he thought. The khaki pants and long-sleeved cotton shirt he put on fit perfectly, and for a moment he was hard pressed to explain how Suzanne had accomplished that without magic. _Could she possibly be a witch? No... Martin said they hated magic. _He remembered the brief telephone conversation Martin had conducted in French. _He must have told her we're about the same size. That's it. She would know her husband's measurements. _

_No wonder Muggles can explain away the existence of magic so easily, _he mused. _They really are resourceful, in their own way. _

Remus flopped down across the bed and tried to make sense of his situation. Now that he had calmed down again, he was appalled by how violently he'd reacted to Waylon's efforts to restrain him. _The kid isn't my enemy. He was just doing what was expected of him..._

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Remus called. Expecting Waylon, he didn't bother to get up, and was surprised and embarrassed when Suzanne stepped through the door.

"Ah, ze clothes fit, I see," she purred, her eyes running the length of his body as he lay sprawled on the bed. Remus sat up, putting his feet on the floor hastily. Suzanne had changed into a T-shirt and jeans, he saw. The short sleeves revealed that her arms, like Waylon's, were criss-crossed with scars, the self-inflicted bites and scratches that were the result of the dementia that accompanied transformation into wolf form.

"You're a werewolf too!"

She nodded. "I was bitten at ze age of thirteen, in my native France. Ze werewolf who attacked me was nevair caught. I assume much ze same 'appened to you?"

Remus nodded, at a loss for words. _Her hair is pure black... _

As though reading his mind, Suzanne ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. "My 'airdresser does a good job, doesn't she ? I confess to being vain. Seventeen was just too young to start going grey."

Remus blinked, feeling stupid. _Of course. Muggle women can change their hair color almost as easily witches. _"How did you wind up here in the States, Mrs. Croteau?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Please, call me Suzanne." She smiled and sank gracefully into the rocking chair. "When I was attacked, my parents took me to ze 'ospital emergency room. Of course, we all believed it was a stray dog zat bit me. Zere aren't any wolves in Rheims. My parents' worst fear was rabies. Zen, ze... 'ow do you say... ze _Médecin-Sorcier_ arrived."

"The Medi-wizard," Remus supplied.

Suzanne smiled, her close-set brown eyes sparkling. "Yes, zat's right. _Merci_." Her smile faded. "Rabies would 'ave seemed a blessing, compared to what ze Medi-wizard told us. I would 'ave to be locked up every month, like an animal. My condition must be kept strictly secret from my teachers, my friends, everyone. He told us zat I would become insane, a violent monster. Zat zere was no cure..."

Remus felt a touch of sympathy; his own family had had much the same experience.

"My older sister 'ad gone to ze States as an _au pair_," Suzanne went on. "She 'ad 'eard about ze Croteau Brothers Carnival and wrote 'ome about ze possibility of contacting ozzer werewolves, to try and learn if zere was any 'ope for me. My parents did more zan zat; zey brought me to Louisiana right away."

"And you found being caged each month in front of anyone who cared to watch better than living with your lycanthropy in secrecy?"

Suzanne didn't react visibly to the harsh words, but a wave of hot anger rolled off her slender body. When she answered, her voice was patient and calm. Remus had to admire her control. "It's not ze way it seems, Remus. Ze exhibit—ze performance, as we call it—it comes as a shock, at first, of course it does. But it isn't about ze audience at all. Ze ozzer werewolves... zey 'elp one to keep one's sanity. It isn't easy to explain, but we all 'elp one anozzer."

Remus considered her words. It made sense, he had to admit, despite the revulsion the iron cages inspired. _When Padfoot and Prongs were with me, my mind became less wolfish under their influence._

"Come downstairs now," Suzanne said. "Dinner is on ze table." She stood, waiting for him to precede her out the door, expecting to be obeyed.

Remus felt a perverse urge to defy her. "I'm really not hungry." He could sense her frustration at being thwarted, laced with amusement. _At herself, for her need to command? Or at me, for my rebellion?_

"You will disappoint Odalie terribly, you know." Suzanne turned back in the doorway. "Please join us, Remus. Zere is anozzer werewolf I'd like you to meet. 'E grew up behind ze Iron Curtain. Once you 'ear 'is story, your own troubles might seem less overwhelming."

"Very well, Madam Croteau." Remus summoned up a smile and followed her down the stairs.

——————

_Hogsmeade village, behind the Shrieking Shack, November 6, 1977 (Seventh year at Hogwarts)_

"Miranda," Remus asked, "how did you find out?" _It must have been Snape._ Last year he'd been so afraid that Severus Snape would reveal his lycanthropy to the school, in spite of Dumbledore's order to keep silent. But weeks had gone by without any gossip from the Slytherins or angry letters from their parents, and Remus had finally relaxed.

"Does it really matter?" Miranda murmured now.

"I knew it," he said bitterly. "Snape told you."

"Listen, Remus, you have your friends, and I have mine," she said with a slight edge to her voice. "Of course Severus told me. How do you think he felt? He could have died! And Dumbledore didn't do a damn thing about it," she added.

"That's not true. Sirius got in a lot of trouble," Remus protested.

"Oh, sure he did. What, detention? If a Slytherin had pulled a prank like that, they'd be expelled." Miranda rolled her eyes. "Watch out for those Slytherins," she said sarcastically. "Everyone knows they all turn bad in the end."

Remus sighed heavily. The last thing he'd wanted to do today was argue with her about House loyalties. "You're not like the rest of the Slytherins, Miranda."

"But I am, Remus. You just don't get it." She laughed softly. "Fine, I'll tell you what happened. Severus Snape told me he'd nearly been bitten, but he didn't name names. Dumbledore had told him not to. But I put two and two together and figured out that the werewolf must have been Sirius Black."

"Sirius!" Remus almost laughed.

"Well, one night that same week, Regulus Black came into the common room and Severus attacked him, totally unprovoked. It was crazy. It took three of us to pull Severus off him."

"Sirius' brother? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Miranda said. "Regulus and Severus aren't exactly friends, but they've always gotten along okay. I figured—we all figured— that it was Sirius that had done something, and Severus was just taking it out on Regulus. So later, I asked Severus what Black had done, and he went off! I thought he was going to hex me."

"He'd better not have," Remus growled.

"No, of course not," Miranda said briskly. "But he told me what had been done to him, and I just knew it was Black. Dumbledore had ordered Snape not to talk, but that wouldn't stop _me_," she sniffed. "I made up my mind to tell the whole school that Black was a werewolf. For Merlin's sake, Remus, Severus could have been killed! I knew everyone's parents would pitch a fit when they found out what had almost happened," she said with satisfaction, "and Black would be expelled, like he deserved."

Remus felt a shiver run through him that had nothing to do with the chill air in the derelict garden. Miranda was describing exactly the kind of scenario he'd dreaded. "But Sirius isn't the werewolf. I am," he said quietly.

Miranda grinned. "Good thing I decided to wait and make sure before I accused him, huh? I waited until the next full moon, and the next day, Black was in class, arrogant and full of himself as ever. But you were absent. I should have figured it out before," she mused. "You've always been absent a lot. Once a month, to be exact. It was so obvious, once I thought about it."

"But you didn't tell anyone there was a werewolf at school. Why not? Why did it make a difference, once you found out it was me?"

"Because I _know_ you, Remus. I know you aren't evil or dangerous. You've been my friend since fourth year," Miranda said simply.

Remus pulled her close. "Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked after a long while.

She shrugged. "We all have our secrets. I figured you'd tell me yourself when you were ready."

"You're amazing. I love you so much." Miranda ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him close for a kiss. But even as their lips met, Remus had to wonder. '_We all have secrets'... What's your secret, Miranda?_


	14. Dinner

_Odalie Jeansson's residence, Bayou Gabriel, evening, July 18, 1997_

Remus became aware of the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen as he followed Suzanne Croteau down the staircase. His mouth immediately began to water and his stomach let out an audible rumble. He felt as though he hadn't eaten in days, despite the two cheeseburgers and generous portion of chips he'd had for lunch. _Not chips, French fries,_ Remus reminded himself. _Not to mention a huge slice of peach pie and a glass of tea with enough sugar in it to make an entire class of first-years hyper for a week. _The wolf within was not mollified.

He surveyed the five people gathered around the big kitchen table with a sense of wonder. Every one of them was a werewolf. Odalie sat at the head of the table, giving him a welcoming smile. Cujo was seated to her right. Wrapped in sullen silence, the big man glowered at him, his eyes narrowed. Remus could vividly imagine Cujo's wolf form with ears laid back and teeth bared. He ignored the attempt at intimidation. Further down the table, Waylon's gaze was nearly as hostile as Cujo's. Remus was dismayed to see that he was sporting a black eye—a souvenir of their scuffle in the yard.

"If you'd kept us waiting much longer for our supper, Remus, I'd of come upstairs and dragged you down myself." He broke into a grin as he spoke and Remus relaxed. Waylon wasn't the type to hold a grudge.

Suzanne took her place at Odalie's left, next to a wiry, swarthy-skinned man with a shaved head who jumped to his feet to shake Remus' hand. "Zis is Kostya Turchenko," Suzanne introduced him, "ze one I was telling you about."

"Call me Mike," he insisted, gripping Remus' hand with bone-crushing enthusiasm. "Nobody can pronounce Kostya." His wide grin revealed several gold teeth at the front of his mouth.

Remus took his place at the foot of the table between Mike and Waylon. The young werewolf reached for a bowl of mashed potatoes but was interrupted by a soft cough from Odalie. "Heavenly Father, we thank you for this food," she began. Waylon sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, but the blessing was mercifully brief.

"A-men!" Waylon echoed loudly as Odalie finished praying. He started to load his plate.

Remus turned his attention to the tempting array of food laid out on the table. Many of the dishes were unfamiliar, but all of them looked and smelled delicious. He experienced a moment of nostalgia for the big, gloomy kitchen of Grimmauld Place, with his friends in the Order of the Phoenix gathered around the table for one of Molly Weasley's legendary meals. The wolf within, ever-hungry, put an end to his reverie with an insistent whine. It was an effort not to tear into the food.

As the meal progressed, he noted with amusement that the other werewolves were feeling the influence of the approaching full moon as much as he was. There was little in the way of conversation. Everyone was devoting their full attention to eating. True wolves lived a life of feast or famine; if the pack was fortunate enough to bring down a large kill the animals would gorge themselves. Waylon and Cujo were clearly following that instinct. They bent low over their plates, shoveling food into their mouths with no regard for manners. Odalie and Mike Turchenko were far more restrained, but no one wasted time in small talk.

Finally everyone's appetite was sated somewhat and the feeding frenzy slowed. "Tell Remus 'ow you came to join ze carnival, Mike," Suzanne Croteau demanded. Showing admirable self-control, she'd eaten daintily, although Remus noticed that she hadn't turned down second helpings.

"What is there to tell ?" Mike said wryly in a thick eastern European accent, pushing his chair back and launching into his tale. "I grow up in orphanage in Ukraine. Since I was little boy I live there. I don't remember my parents. Was I born a werewolf, or was I bitten at a very young age?" he asked Remus rhetorically. "Nobody knows." He shrugged. "When I get older, maybe nine or ten, director of orphanage arrange for me to go with traveling circus."

_As he matured, his transformations would have become more violent, impossible to control, _Remus thought. _So they took him from the only home he'd ever known and put him on display in a freak show. His childhood must have been horrible. _

"You feel sorry for me?" Mike asked shrewdly. "Why? It was good life—great life for young boy." He plucked the few remaining grapes from a fruit bowl, leaned back in his chair, and began to juggle them skillfully. "Everyone teach me things—juggling, acrobatics... The Circus people, they like a family, first real family I ever have." He popped the grapes into his mouth and laughed, gold teeth glinting. "Also, I learn how to put on stage make-up. Because full moon is only once a month. Nobody want to pay to see ordinary man." He spread his hands, indicating his appearance. "Boring, no? So, I wear fangs, false beard, torn clothes. And howl, like this." He threw back his head and let out an eerily accurate wolf howl.

Odalie jumped in her seat, then laughed delightedly. "Aw, shut the hell up, Mike," Cujo muttered. He stood abruptly. "We got work to do. Come on."

Mike grinned and collected his plate, depositing it in the sink and thanking Odalie for the dinner before following Cujo out of the room.

"Aw," Waylon said disappointedly, "he didn't finish the story."

"Mike has lived in this house for seven years," Odalie mused, "and after every meal he thanks me as though he were a guest." She brightened. "Well, I have work of my own to attend to. Suzanne, if you wouldn't mind loading the dishwasher?"

Waylon leaped to his feet with the eagerness of a puppy. "I'll help."

———————

Remus followed Suzanne and Waylon out onto the front porch of the big old house. He'd carried his own plate and cutlery to the sink, then watched with interest as the two had efficiently rinsed the dinner dishes and loaded them into the unfamiliar Muggle machine to be washed. "Well, I got stuff to do," Waylon said awkwardly. "See you later."

"_Bonne nuit_, Ti." Suzanne's voice held suppressed laughter. She waited until he'd shut the door of his truck and revved the engine, then turned to Remus. "Ti wasn't planning to work late tonight. But now, 'e is 'oping zat black eye you gave 'im will fade before 'is wife sees it."

Remus felt the heat rise to his face. "He's a good kid. I shouldn't have taken my temper out on him."

Suzanne shrugged and sat down in an old rocking chair. "No real 'arm done. Come, let me finish telling you Mike's story."

Fireflies winked among the vines and a cool breeze from the bayou brought welcome relief from the heat of the day. In the distance came a jangle of amplified music from the carnival, garish lights from the rides staining the night sky orange and red. Remus took a matching chair next to Suzanne and allowed himself to relax. "Sounds like Mike had a rough life," he admitted.

"Mike stayed wiz ze circus until 'e was about twenty," Suzanne told him. "Zey were performing in Romania when, late one night, a night of ze full moon, ze lock of 'is cage broke. In 'is wolf form, 'e escaped. Mike woke up alone and naked in ze hills outside ze little village where zey had performed ze night before. When 'e made 'is way back to ze circus, ze police were zere. Zey said 'e 'ad killed a young woman in ze night."

"How awful." Remus thought of the friendly, enthusiastic immigrant. "The guilt he must have felt... I suppose he wouldn't have remembered anything about the attack."

Suzanne nodded. "Mike turned 'imself in to ze police wizout a fight. 'E 'ad managed to save a little money, over ze years, and 'e asked 'is friends to make sure it was all given to ze girl's 'usband. Zey 'ad only been married a few months."

"Poor bastard."

"You feel sorry for ze 'usband?" Suzanne laughed. Her scent was suddenly sharp, metallic. She was angry about something.

"Is zere... um, is there some reason I shouldn't feel sorry for him?"

Suzanne leaned closer. "'E murdered 'is bride," she whispered with an air of satisfaction.

"_Whew._" Remus let out a long breath. "And Mike was there to take the blame. Wasn't that convenient," he said sarcastically. "Poor bastard," he repeated, this time referring to the Ukrainian werewolf. "How did he ever find out what had really happened?"

"Ze man fell ill... 'e confessed on 'is deathbed. By zen, Mike 'ad been in prison for nearly twenty years."

Remus couldn't help but think of Sirius, and he shuddered involuntarily. _Okay, so my current situation is a mere inconvenience by comparison. _"This happened in Romania?" he asked. "I can't imagine the Muggle—er, I mean the Ceausescu regime, would be interested in justice for a poor circus performer."

Suzanne laughed again, a laugh devoid of humor. "You're right. Mike remained behind bars for anozzer five years, until Ceausescu was executed in nineteen eighty-nine. Like 'undreds of Eastern Bloc citizens, 'e made 'is way west. 'Is story is a sad one, but wiz a 'appy ending. It took three years wiz us, but Mike finally learned to maintain control of 'is mind when 'e transformed. For ze first time in 'is life, 'e was able to run free under ze full moon."

"You don't stay in the cages?" Remus asked sharply.

"Why shouldn't we run free, as long as we are in control of ourselves?"

Remus recalled Martin Croteau's look of disgust as he'd gingerly handled the bottle of wolfsbane potion. _How can they retain their sanity without it?_

"You don't believe zat it can be done."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Mike loves Martin like a brozzer," Suzanne said with a trace of a challenge in her voice.

Remus didn't take the bait. "And you must love your husband very much," he said gently.

"You 'ave read books about true wolves? You know zat zey mate for life?" Remus nodded. "I believe it is true," Suzanne said passionately. "I knew from ze first time I saw 'im, zat Martin was ze only one in ze world for me."

Remembering her story, Remus couldn't help but chuckle. She'd been a mere child on her arrival in Louisiana. "That must have been difficult for you."

Suzanne relaxed and giggled girlishly. "For both of us. 'E was eighteen years older zan me! It was years before I dared tell 'im 'ow I felt..."

The adoring Hogwarts girls who'd flocked around Sirius Black came to mind; Remus' first introduction to the dark chocolate scent of desire. "He couldn't help but have known."

"To Martin, I was just a crazy little girl," Suzanne laughed. "'E was sure my love for 'im was just a phase zat I would outgrow zomeday." She waved her left hand airily, making the gold wedding band and diamond engagement ring on her finger glint briefly in the light shining through the windows of the house. "As you can see, it only took me nine years to convince 'im zat we were destined to be togezzer."

"You're a very persuasive woman," Remus said dryly. He stood up casually and excused himself. "It's been a long day, Suzanne. Thanks for keeping me company, but I think I'll try to get some sleep now."

"_Bonne nuit_, Remus."

——————

Remus started for the stairs, then quietly reversed direction and tiptoed into the little parlor with the French doors. _Odalie's museum._ He wandered restlessly through the room, taking a closer look at the werewolves depicted there in art and photographs.

As intrigued as he was by the werewolves of Bayou Gabriel, he was determined to deal with the pack, and the upcoming full moon, on his own terms. He had no intention of meekly retiring to his room, not without confronting Martin Croteau first.

His brief, stressful introduction to the leader of the pack had made one thing very clear. Martin was intense and driven—a perfectionist. Not the sort to leave even the smallest detail in the hands of underlings, no matter how trusted. Remus doubted very much that the man would return to his own bed before the carnival had wound down and been locked up for the night. He would seek him out as soon as he was certain that Suzanne had left. He didn't want Martin's wife involved in any way; she would only complicate matters.

Remus trailed his hand over a shelf loaded with photographs. _So many werewolves... but no ordinary humans, not in any of these pictures. Waylon's wife and two of his sons are normal humans. Mike and Cujo are unmarried... _Remus put the question of other family members out of his mind. As for those who might be normal humans, there were no clues to be found in this strange shrine to the lycanthropy that had cursed the family for generations.

He picked up a crude clay statue of a wolf, obviously crafted by a child. The initials _M.C._ were carved on the bottom of the piece. _Did Martin make this, as a child at school, or some other M. Croteau? _He set the little wolf down with care. Next to it was a group photograph, apparently taken in the early nineteen-eighties. Remus recognized a younger Odalie, her hair only partly streaked with grey, standing beside a tall Black man. Who was he? Another mystery. Martin stood beside him, with a young boy of nine or ten in front of him, obviously Waylon. Remus chuckled. The young werewolf's appearance hadn't changed much.

On Odalie's other side, as far from Martin a she could possibly stand, was Suzanne, no more than fifteen years old. Her hair had been teased high into a stiff, unattractive asymmetrical style and her arms were crossed over her breasts self-consciously. Remus laughed, imagining the little figures in the photograph moving as they would in a photo from the wizarding world. In his mind's eye he pictured Martin pointedly ignoring adoring 'Sirius looks' from the teenage Suzanne. The thought of the pack leader's discomfort amused Remus and he looked at the picture for another long moment before turning aside.

His eyes were drawn once again to the two paintings of the young girl and her wolf form. _A blond. Odalie and Suzanne are both dark-haired. Who is she? _Remus realized he still wasn't sure just how many werewolves there were in the Bayou Gabriel pack. _Time enough to find out, after I get my potions back from Martin. _He made himself as comfortable as possible in a stiff, old-fashioned chair. Ten minutes later he heard Suzanne's car start up.

———————

Author's notes: Thank you very very much for reviewing—SilverTrinity, invisible2u, Aly DragonChild, Pickledishkiller, Sennica01, and Kaori7395.

**To SilverTrinity and Aly DragonChild: ** You've both brought up one of the main reasons I was unhappy with the first draft of this story. Lupin just came across as way too angsty—he kept flying off the handle from the moment he and the Croteaus first met. That and the fact that I didn't portray the American werewolves very well made for a really traumatic angst-ridden story with a whole lot of conflict that dragged on and on without getting resolved. In this version I'm trying for a more in-character portrayal of Lupin and a better build-up of the conflict with Martin Croteau. Admittedly I might not nail it this time around, either! Teehee. I don't plan on a third draft, though, because you just can't make a silk purse out of a nogtail's ear, to coin a cliché.

**To Aly DragonChild: ** I don't wanna talk about Suzanne's French accent. I've tried to model it on Fleur Delacour/Madam Maxime. Part of the problem is, I don't write any kind of dialect well. But I'll tell you what, I speak French myself, (very badly!) I lived in the French-speaking part of Belgium for a couple of years, I've talked with people from France, Haiti, various African countries... Thing is, I've never, ever, heard anyone whose accent was remotely like JKR's French-speaking characters. It just ain't right, I tell you! LOL Most of Suzanne's dialog was revised and re-revised in the first draft. I'm too sick of it to revise it any more.

**To Pickledishkiller:** I'm guessing there's quite a story behind your pen name... Yeah, I had to deprive Lupin of his magic, or there wouldn't have been any story. Forget apparating—the Croteaus would've had their butts kicked!


	15. Conversations With the Irrational

_Bayou Gabriel, Louisiana, nighttime, July 19, 1997 _

The humid night air was alive with sound as Remus made his way up the long dirt driveway from Odalie's house. There was a Zydeco band on stage at the carnival. A chorus of frogs somewhere down in the bayou competed with the amplified music in an impromptu battle to see who could make the most noise. Down here beyond the high wooden fence, the rush and whir of the rides and the shouts of the crowd formed a muted background to the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl.

_Not much chance I'll be overheard, _Remus thought. He loped between the derelict barns and rusting farm equipment, keeping to the shadows. The moon, a near-perfect circle, rode high in the night sky, keeping him on edge as much as the impending confrontation with Martin Croteau. Incantations ran through his mind—charms of stealth and concealment. He shook his head impatiently, trying to dispel them. The arcane words were of no use to him now.

At the moment, his nose was his best asset. This close to the full moon, his sense of smell was as highly developed as that of any true wolf—one hundred times better than a normal human's. Remus raised his head and sniffed the air, letting wolfish instinct process the sudden flood of information. Cujo had passed this way hours ago; the lingering odor was enough to raise the hair on the back of Remus' neck and he suppressed a low snarl. Suzanne's scent was fresher, mingled with the tang of engine exhaust from her car. Remus frowned as he got close to the low building that housed Martin's office. Martin was inside with two humans, strangers to Remus. _Most likely employees._ They were of little concern. More importantly, he'd detected Waylon's scent on the breeze. The young werewolf was close by, perhaps even standing guard.

An electric light mounted above the doorway meant it would be impossible to slip into the building without being seen. It really didn't matter; Waylon would have picked up his scent as well. Remus stepped out of the shadows and waited. The younger werewolf's footsteps padded up behind him, nearly silent. Remus turned to face him. "I told you not to wander off!" Waylon's voice was loud, his tone belligerent.

Remus took two steps forward, invading the shorter man's personal space. He loomed over him, making the most of his added height. "Suzanne told me I was a guest here, not a prisoner." Although he kept his voice soft, he injected a cold note of menace. It was a trick he'd heard Severus Snape use many times during their brief joint tenure as professors at Hogwarts. He couldn't manage Snape's rich, silky timbre, but the menacing tone worked nonetheless. Remus had to suppress a chuckle when Waylon abruptly stepped back, spreading his hands in a gesture of appeasement. The intimidation tactics weren't fair, but they were certainly effective. _My terms, _he reminded himself. He wouldn't stoop to physical violence, not again. If he had to bully Waylon a little bit to avoid another fistfight, so be it.

"Come on, Remus, the carnival's nearly over," Waylon wheedled. "There's nothing to see out here. Come on back to the house and we'll kick back for a while, have a couple of beers—"

"That would be great, Waylon, I'd like that. Right after I talk to Martin." Remus turned and started for the door before Waylon could protest. After a split second of indecision, he rushed after him.

In the hallway, he tried to grab Remus' arm and hold him back. "You're not going in there!" They burst through the office door. "Martin, I told him not to bother you—"

Silence fell. Time seemed to come to a stop as Remus took in the scene. Martin sat at the polished mahogany desk, an accounts ledger open in front of him, pen poised over a column of numbers. A beefy, balding man in his sixties was in the act of closing a large wall safe. Standing less than ten feet away, a younger man had leaped to assume a duelist's stance and now stood sighting down the length of a metal tube. _A gun, _Remus realized. It was aimed at the center of his chest.

_It's not personal. A large portion of the carnival revenue will be in cash—the armed employee is here to guard against a robbery attempt. _The thought failed to make Remus feel at ease. Two months ago to the very day he'd managed, somehow, to block an unblockable curse. _Avada kedavra._ It had taken his magic. He considered himself lucky—it could have taken his life. Remus supposed he might be lucky enough to dodge a bullet. He really didn't want to try. He heard Waylon draw a deep, shuddering breath behind him. _That gun could kill Waylon as easily as it could kill me. _

He'd frozen in place with his right hand reaching into his pocket for a wand that had been shattered two months ago. The guard's eyes narrowed, his finger tightening on the trigger. Remus could smell fear, rank and sour. His own. Any move he made could be interpreted as a threat.

Suddenly, the chamber of the gun popped open and a little shower of bullets fell to the floor. "What the hell?" the guard shouted, nearly dropping the weapon in shock.

Martin stood up. "Calm down, John. We're in no danger. Mr. Lupin is a guest in my cousin's home." As always, his voice was quiet and polite. As always, he allowed nothing to betray his emotions. Remus wasn't fooled. Beneath the older man's calm facade lurked an aggressive alpha male, filled with rage over the violation of his territory.

"Waylon, wait outside, please" he said as the man he'd called John holstered the gun and sheepishly collected his bullets from the carpet. The tension in the room had dropped dramatically, except for Waylon, still standing behind Remus. Shame rolled off of him, a feverish heat that Remus could feel warming the back of his neck uncomfortably. Martin obviously felt it too, because his stern expression softened. "You did well, Ti. I'll call you if I need any further assistance." He gave Remus a hard look as Waylon and the two employees left the room.

Inwardly, Remus sighed. The conversation was already off to a bad start.

——————

_Gryffindor boys' dormitory, evening, April 7, 1977 (Sixth Year at Hogwarts)_

"Moony. You awake? Moony, I have to talk to you."

Remus pushed himself to a sitting position and leaned against the headboard, struggling up from deep sleep. He'd come back to the dormitory right after dinner, still tired and weak from his last transformation. With some difficulty, he focused on Sirius Black, standing in the doorway. "I'm awake, Padfoot. What's on your mind?"

Sirius shut the dormitory door and leaned against it. He didn't light the candles, Remus noted. The handsome sixth-year radiated tension. "Remember the last full moon?"

"Yeah. Some of it." His mind was becoming less animalistic each month, under the influence of his friends, but Remus still awoke after the full moon with blank spots in his memory. Something must have happened this last time to disturb Sirius. "We went out into the Forbidden Forest, I remember that."

"We chased a rabbit," Sirius told him. "Well, I did," he said, accepting the blame, "and you followed after me, and, er... we killed it. Prongs wasn't too happy about it," Sirius admitted, "and Wormtail totally flipped."

"Ah. So that's what's been wrong with him," Remus said calmly. Even sick and distracted, he couldn't help noticing that Peter had been upset about something.

"Yeah, he reckons if you'll eat a rabbit, you could just as easily eat a rat."

Remus grimaced at the thought of devouring raw animal flesh. "I'd really rather not eat either one. Look, Padfoot, it's no big deal. Now you know better. We won't chase any more rabbits. Or rats, or deer," he added with a grin.

"Yeah. I guess so."

_There's something more._ Tension and shame hung in the air between them in the darkness. Sirius hadn't come over and flopped across the foot of his bed as he usually did, Remus realized. He started to get worried himself. "Padfoot, what else happened?"

"Nothing." The sixteen-year-old shifted his feet uneasily.

"Tell me," Remus said levelly.

"Oh, hell, Moony, I don't know! It's just, this whole canine thing..."

Remus waited impatiently. _Get to the point, so I can get back to sleep._

Sirius let out a short bark of nervous laughter. "All right. When we meet up in animal form..." His voice trailed off. There was a long silence. "Moony," Sirius whispered finally in horrified tones, "we sniff one another's butts!" Remus laughed, tried unsuccessfully to stifle it. "It's not funny!" Sirius hissed.

"I'm sorry," Remus laughed, "I'm really sorry." With some effort, he got control of himself. _Poor Padfoot. It really is embarrassing,_ he thought, glad for once that he was too exhausted to feel much emotion."Sirius, that's how canines greet one another. It's normal."

"It isn't normal for me," Sirius huffed, defensive. He suddenly slumped to sit on the floor, leaning against the door with his head in his hands. "I can't believe I sniffed your hairy arse. I can't believe I let you sniff mine! I didn't even mind it..." Sirius' voice was filled with loathing. Another long silence followed. "I'm starting to think I might be..." He whispered so softly that Remus had to strain to hear him. "_Oh, god! _What if I'm gay?"

_I do not need this._ _I have an Astronomy test tomorrow. I just want to get some rest. _Remus reminded himself to be patient. "You're not gay, Padfoot."

"Damn right I'm not!... But shit, Remus, what if _you're_—"

"I'm not gay. Look, you're in human form now, right? Do you have any interest in my arse at the moment?"

"_No! _Dammit, Remus, that's sick!"

"You've just proved my point. You're not gay. And in case you're wondering, no, I've never been particularly attracted to your arse, either." Remus took a deep breath. _God, I'm tired._ "When you're in dog form, you're going to behave like a dog," he told Sirius. "It's normal, Padfoot. Get over it."

Sirius might have said something in reply, but a soft snore from Remus interrupted him. He'd fallen fast asleep, still sitting up in bed.

——————

_Martin Croteau's office, Bayou Gabriel, nighttime, July 19, 1997 _

Martin waited until the sounds of the three mens' departure had completely faded away before he spoke again. "Mr. Lupin," he said softly, "you are turning out to be a royal pain in the ass."

Remus didn't answer. His dual nature, brought to the forefront by the moon, made it difficult to know how to respond. The emotional wolf growled, provoked to anger by the insult. The rational man wanted to laugh out loud. _Martin's control is really starting to slip. _Belatedly, he managed a reply. "I have a remedy for your pain, Mr. Croteau," he said wryly. "Return my property, call off your thugs, and let me leave in peace."

"I already told you, leaving isn't possible. You will conform to the way we do things here—"

"You will not put me into one of those cages!"

Martin's eyes blazed as he bared his teeth in a feral snarl. "You have no choice in the matter, Mr. Lupin !" He lowered his voice. "None of us has any choice. You've seen how we live here, openly, without fear. That freedom, paradoxically, depends on those cages. The people of this parish tolerate monsters living among them because their safety is guaranteed by those iron bars. It's taken decades to build that degree of trust, Mr. Lupin. Do you have any idea how quickly it would be shattered if I were to allow you to run free?"

Martin had moved out from behind his desk, stalking closer and closer as he argued his point. Remus had stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated. Now they were standing practically toe to toe and the tension was mounting. Remus decided that it was time to back down, just a bit. He took a step back and relaxed his hands, which had unconsciously balled into fists. Martin seemed to pick up on the unspoken cues, adjusting his own body language to a less aggressive posture.

Encouraged, Remus said, "Believe me, Mr. Croteau, I'm in envy of the degree of freedom you have here. I have no intention of jeopardizing that. I've been using the wolfsbane potion for six years, since shortly after it was invented, with no ill effects. You'll see that it allows me to keep my sanity through the transformation."

"I'm not completely ignorant of experimental treatments for lycanthropy. I just haven't seen any proof of the potion's effectiveness," Martin countered.

"You don't seem to have given anyone the chance to offer you proof. I understand that you've had a bad experience with one wizard, but not all magic is evil. On the contrary, much of it is beneficial. Like the wolfsbane potion."

Martin was shaking his head. Remus wasn't getting through. He went on doggedly. "You've probably figured out by now that I had a supply of the potion hidden in my suitcase. I have no objection to sharing it with you, to prove that it works." He leaned forward, intense, willing Martin to unbend a bit, to meet him halfway. To simply listen. "If you'd just try it—"

"No." Martin held up a hand peremptorily to stop Remus' reply. "It doesn't matter if the potion works or not. Freedom has to be earned, by self-control," he stated. "Every single werewolf within the borders of this parish is securely locked behind bars until they have proved, _in public,_ beyond the shadow of a doubt, that it is safe to let them out! That is our law, Mr. Lupin, and _no one _is above that law."

Remus couldn't believe the man's arrogance. "Are you trying to tell me that you intend to try and prevent me from taking the potion?"

To his surprise, Martin abruptly turned away and sat down in one of the leather chairs placed in front of the desk. Silently, the werewolf inclined his head, indicating the second chair. Remus experienced a brief internal struggle. The monster within reacted with a primal urge to attack, to press the advantage Martin seemed to have offered with his unexpected, docile posture.

_No. _Remus denied the beast. _As long as_ _he's willing to talk, I'm willing to listen._ He sat down. Silence stretched for long moments between the two men, becoming more strained by the second. Remus began to suspect that Martin wanted to compromise but had no idea how to begin a dialog between them.

Finally, he spoke. "You may take your potion, Mr. Lupin. But you will be caged, and you will remain caged until the moon sets."

_That isn't much of a compromise,_ Remus thought. He could feel his irritation rising again. The wolf within began to howl. He stood. "Your wife tried to explain to me about this method of yours, this vaunted self-control you want me to believe you all possess. I don't buy it, Croteau. I've seen the scars on her body."

Martin's face drained of color. He leaped to his feet. "Get out," he shrieked. Spittle flew from his lips. "This conversation is over!"

Remus kept his voice calm. Quiet and polite. He said, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Croteau," and made a dignified exit from the room. The wolf continued to howl, but now it was a howl of triumph. Remus didn't even try to suppress the laughter that rose up at Martin's expense. _So much for his self-control._

——————

Author's notes: Thanks to Aly DragonChild, Pickledishkiller, and SilverTrinity for clicking the review button and making me happy!


	16. Night

Waylon was sitting on the tailgate of his pickup truck, relaxed, feet dangling, gazing at the moon. "You finally ready to go knock back those beers?"

"Sure." Remus hesitated. "If you still want to. It's late. Suzanne said you weren't planning to work tonight..."

He hopped down and slammed the tailgate shut. "I called home hours ago to tell my boys goodnight. Told Evie about the change of plans. I'll see 'em all tomorrow." He laughed. "Or today, I guess. It's past midnight."

"I'm sorry about the black eye," Remus offered as they climbed into the truck for the short drive back to Odalie's.

"Aw, that's all right." Waylon ducked his head. "It was my own fault."

_No, it wasn't! _Remus felt a quick rush of guilt but didn't voice the protest aloud. Snapping at the man would only make his behavior even more subservient. _It's obvious who's been cast in the role of omega wolf here, _he thought ruefully.

There was a single light on in the big old house in spite of the late hour. "That's Odalie's studio," Waylon commented. "She'll work all night when the mood strikes her." They tiptoed into the hodgepodge kitchen and retrieved two cold six-packs from the refrigerator. The decision was made to do the actual drinking down on the shore of the bayou. Waylon insisted on spraying them both with a foul-smelling Muggle potion before they left the house. "You'll thank me for this," he assured Remus. "We got mosquitoes the size of vultures! Boy, they'll carry you away if you let 'em."

Once they'd made their way down the sloping back lawn to sit on the weathered grey dock that jutted out over the water, Remus had to admit that the bug repellent was a good idea. Mosquitoes whirled in silvery swarms, their droning whine providing an insectile descant above the four-part harmony of the bayou's amphibian choir.

As the total of empty beer cans mounted, he consciously relaxed his guard and let Waylon draw him out. It wasn't difficult—Waylon was an attentive listener, asked the right questions at the right time, and generally gave the impression of being the perfect confidant. _Not that Waylon would feel the slightest bit guilty about repeating every word back to Martin, if he were to ask, _Remus thought without rancor. It didn't matter. _Nothing Waylon could say could possibly make Martin's opinion of_ _me any lower than it already is. _Remembering the look of naked rage on the alpha male's face as he'd screamed at him, Remus reflected that he was lucky to have left the interview unharmed. _I need allies,_ he thought, _or at least others in the pack who understand that I'm not the terrible threat that Martin perceives. _

And so he sipped his beer and laughed at Waylon's fantastically embroidered tales of growing up in Lafayette Parish, and answered Waylon's questions with heavily edited stories of his own life. "A dog?" Waylon repeated incredulously after Remus had told him about Padfoot. "Shoot, you're pullin' my leg! Next you're going to try tellin' me you ain't really a werewolf." Remus noted with amusement that Waylon's accent had thickened more and more with every can of beer he'd consumed. "'Cause there ain't no way any werewolf is gonna let a _dog_ push him around," the younger man insisted.

"Not an ordinary dog," Remus said, laughing. "Padfoot was roughly the size of a bear, and a wizard as well." Waylon laughed along with him, still shaking his head in disbelief. _It's a good thing I didn't mention Prongs and Wormtail,_ Remus thought.

"Explain Martin to me, if you can," he said, suddenly serious. "He obviously doesn't want me around... Why insist on keeping me here? Why not see me escorted out of the parish—the state even— before the full moon? There's still time."

Waylon took a long time to respond. "You're not thinkin' like a wolf," he said finally. "Why does a lone wolf enter another pack's territory?"

"I see where this is going. To usurp the alpha male's position," Remus answered. "Kill him or drive him off, steal his mate... But that's absurd. I've given Martin no reason to think anything like that."

Waylon lowered his head and looked away. "Haven't you? What about that comment you made about Suzanne?" he murmured. "About seein' her naked?"

"I said no such thing!" Even as he protested, Remus felt his face grow hot. He'd deliberately phrased the remark to imply just that, to provoke Martin. _And for what purpose? Did I want him to try and throttle me with his bare hands? _Another thought occurred to him. "You were eavesdropping!"

Waylon said nothing, but Remus could feel the heat of his embarrassment at being caught. _With the wolf's keen sense of hearing, he would have been able to hear the whole interview from the hallway. He must have run like mad when Martin shouted. _He remembered how the young werewolf had lounged on the tailgate of his truck, the picture of innocence, and chuckled. It wouldn't be the first time the omega had eavesdropped.

"The crack about Suzanne was bad form," he admitted after a long pause broken only by the croaking of the frogs. "So, you're trying to tell me that Martin and I are both being controlled by the primitive instincts of the wolf within."

"Full moon affects the best of us," Waylon said philosophically. "I'm not sayin' you meant to come stir up trouble, but once you announced yourself in town the way you did... Not to mention lyin' about bein' a wizard," he mumbled unwillingly.

"It was a half-truth," Remus acknowledged. "I was a wizard, once, but no longer. I haven't any magic to use against any of you, even if I wanted to."

"If you say so." Waylon's tone was doubtful. Again, he ducked his head, almost cringing, a gesture of submission.

Remus suppressed his frustration and carefully kept his own body language neutral, non-threatening. _There's no way to prove the non-existence of my magic!_ He tried a different tactic. "Waylon, even if I had magic, I wouldn't pose a threat to any of you. I'm an academic—a scholar, nothing more. Granted, I've behaved badly recently. I can only claim extenuating circumstances; the stress of being thrown into a situation I didn't understand, and the influence of the moon. I'm not a violent man."

"If you say so."

An image came to him, unbidden, Bellatrix Lestrange screaming, he himself howling with mingled fear and defiance as green light arched wildly between their wands.

Remus sighed. He'd come of age during the war, fought his first skirmish with Death Eaters less than a month after graduation from Hogwarts. He'd never cast an Unforgivable curse, never killed except in self-defense, or in defense of others, of innocents...

Another memory, Peter Pettigrew groveling on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, a gaunt and filthy Sirius Black standing over him, rolling up his sleeves. "_Shall we kill him together?"_

"_Yes, I think so." _

_I'm not a violent man. But I suppose Waylon is right to have reservations. _

"Martin said he would return the wolfsbane potions to me before the full moon," Remus said after a while, knowing that Waylon already knew this. "But he insisted that if I took the potion, I'd have to remain locked up. I imagine you'll say that that's the alpha wolf instinct at work. Martin needs to thoroughly humiliate me before he sends me on my way."

Waylon's voice was shocked. "No, you got it all wrong. Martin ain't like that at all!"

"Well, for the life of me, I can't understand his reasoning."

"He's just concerned about the potion. Wolfsbane potion is bad news, Remus. I'm tellin' you, the stuff is poison."

He was simply parroting back what he'd been told. Remus wanted to growl with frustration. "Waylon, it isn't—"

"I don't know why it works for you," Waylon interrupted. "Maybe because you weren't born with the curse, or somethin'. All I know is, it made Al Dixon so sick he nearly died."

_Al Dixon. _The group photograph sprang to mind, with the unidentified man standing next to Odalie Jeannson. _That would be Dixon... But the wolfsbane potion works for any werewolf, regardless of whether they were bitten or were born with lycanthropy. _The potion was notoriously difficult to make—perhaps Dixon had been poisoned. _Accidentally, or on purpose? _Remus wondered. He knew there was no point in arguing with Waylon about it.

Birds were calling from the trees. The moon had set but the sky was already glowing, pink and pearly, with the light of the sun. Remus blinked as a frog jumped from the shore with a splash. They'd stayed up talking all night. He stood and held out a hand to Waylon. "I suppose it's too late to think about getting any sleep," he commented.

Waylon's stomach growled, loud in the early morning stillness. "Heck no, cher," he said with a laugh. "It's time for breakfast!"

——————

Author's notes: Merci beaucoup to Badr, Unforgettable, invisible2u, SilverTrinity, and Sennica01 for being so kind as to review. Your comments are always much appreciated!

This chapter included two quotes from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling, chapter 19, page 373.

**To Badr: ** I have to admit, the plot of this story is as threadbare as, um... as threadbare as Lupin's robes. I started this with the idea of working on characterization, and was completely unconcerned that I didn't have a ghost of a plot. How dumb is that, eh? I've since learned my lesson, but for the time being I'm making the best of what little I've got to work with.

BTW, I get most of my wolf facts from a kid's book titled Wolf! A Sticker Safari. Pathetic, I know.

**To Sennica01:** One night only. I'm kind of bothered by this; when I started doing research I found some web sites that said the moon is full for three nights in a row. But then, all the full moon charts I've seen list just one date, so I don't know what's up with that. (I failed astronomy, go figure.)


	17. Confrontations

_Odalie Jeannson's residence, Bayou Gabriel, Louisiana, morning, July 20, 1997_

Remus wiped away the condensation on the bathroom mirror and confronted his reflection. The bruises from his fight with Cujo were completely gone. The man peering back at him through the fog looked well-rested, refreshed, even youthful except for the grey that streaked his hair. _That's the full moon for you,_ thought Remus. In two days, he'd be exhausted, nearly comatose. Now, though, the monster within imbued him with an unnatural energy. Remus ran a hand along his jaw. The only thing that marred his appearance at the moment was the day's worth of beard stubble that had grown up. He sighed and reached for the razor—a new addition to his morning routine, since the duel with Bellatrix Lestrange. In the old days, he would have simply reached for his wand and cast a quick depilatory charm. He shrugged philosophically, momentarily picturing his father's face, imagining the advice he would have given. _He always wanted me to be able to survive in the Muggle world. _Remus chuckled to himself. _Dad would probably tell me to stop the self-pity. At least I've managed to learn to do it without cutting myself. _Once finished with the task of shaving, Remus stepped into the bedroom and pulled on clean clothes. Suzanne Croteau had included a selection of shirts—both long-sleeved and short-sleeved. He hesitated almost a minute before finally choosing one with short sleeves, then went downstairs to meet Waylon.

The vines covering the porch had burst into bloom overnight, trumpet-shaped flowers of blue and white, some nearly as large as the palm of Remus' hand. Their subtle perfume filled the air. As they stepped from the shadows of the porch into the yard, Waylon shielded his face and let out a loud yell. "Ow, my eyes! The sun reflecting off your arms, it's blinding me!"

Remus had to admit, in the bright morning light his arms were shockingly pale. He couldn't help but laugh at Waylon's reaction. "It's been more than twenty years since I last wore short sleeves. I don't have anything to hide here, though, do I?"

Waylon laughed. "Damn, I'd hide if I was you. Some things weren't meant to see the light of day." He let out a low whistle and drawled, "You're the whitest white boy in the entire state of Louisiana. Better watch out," he added seriously. "By noon, you're going to be sunburned."

"It'll heal. I'll be tanned by evening." Remus smirked, "you'll still be just as ugly as ever."

"You wish! Wait 'til you see the crowd of women flocking around my cage Saturday night," Waylon bragged as they climbed into the pick-up truck.

"Sure. They have to wait until the full moon to look at you," Remus deadpanned. "They can't stand to see your face unless it's covered with fur."

"So much hostility," Waylon sighed, pretending reproach. He tried but wasn't quite able to hide a very canine grin. Remus could almost see the wolf within the younger man wagging its tail in delight at this new game. "Admit it, Moony! You're just jealous because I'm so much younger and prettier than you."

"Keep telling yourself that," Remus chuckled. His smile faded as he caught sight of Cujo waiting next to the high wooden fence that blocked the iron cages from view. "He's not coming with us, is he?"

"I don't know." Waylon rolled down the window. "You want a ride somewhere, Cujo ?"

The big werewolf came around to the passenger side of the truck. Remus scooted over on the seat, but Cujo still managed to jostle him as he climbed into the cab. The wolf within reacted with instinctive rage as Cujo's scent assaulted Remus' nostrils. "Yeah, I'm coming along for the ride," he told Waylon with an unpleasant smile. "Boss don't think you can handle this little punk on your own."

"Great. Just great." Waylon muttered. His embarrassment mingled with Cujo's suppressed anger to turn the air of the cab into a miasma. Waylon put the pickup into gear and they rode on through the empty carnival grounds in tense silence.

Passing through the field that served as the carnival's parking lot, Remus noticed a parked bus with the words _Church of the Gospel Truth _painted on the side. A group of black men had just begun unloading equipment. Cujo had noticed too. "Damn freeloading niggers," he growled.

_So the man is a bigot as well as a bully._ The men must be some of Odalie's church friends. He dredged up the name of the minister from his memory... Reverend Simms. He also remembered Waylon's hostility toward Odalie's religious beliefs and wondered if racism might be one of the reasons for his ill will. He risked a glance at Waylon. He was staring straight ahead at the road, radiating his own tension. A moment later, with an embarrassed shrug, the younger man turned up the air conditioning. The air flooding from the vents smelled stale, but at least it dampened Cujo's scent.

As the little town of St. Ghislain came into view, Remus made a conscious effort to relax tensed muscles and calm the wolf within. Waylon pulled into a parking space in front of the diner where Remus had announced his status as the new werewolf in town to Marlene and Claude and their customers only the day before. Cujo hopped out of the truck and led the way into the establishment, the other two trailing behind without enthusiasm. Waylon's shoulders were hunched, the submissive posture making him seem even smaller than he really was. Remus flashed him a quick, forced smile which wasn't returned. Cujo had him utterly cowed. Breakfast, Remus thought to himself, was probably not going to be pleasant.

——————

_Bayou Gabriel, Louisiana, morning, July 20, 1997_

The pickup sped down the highway, heading back to the carnival. Remus suppressed a sigh and tried once again to unclench his jaw, to ease the tension in his shoulders. He wondered if Cujo was planning to tail him all day, or if he would go about his own business once they returned to the bayou.

He'd just managed to relax a bit when Waylon turned the truck off the highway and onto the rutted dirt road that bisected the huge field used as a parking lot for the carnival patrons. Cujo took the opportunity to elbow Remus roughly in the ribs as the vehicle wallowed through a pothole. Remus felt his jaw clench again, the wolf's rage becoming harder to suppress each time Cujo used his bullying tactics. He deliberately ignored the man, turning his attention to the stretch of field where the little group had nearly finished setting up a large canvas tent.

"Pull over, Ti," Cujo ordered. "I want to have me a little fun."

Remus felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach; anything Cujo considered fun would undoubtedly be bad, but Waylon stopped the truck without hesitation. The big werewolf sprang down from the cab and stalked across the dusty field. Waylon and Remus followed. The set-up crew had stopped what they were doing and gathered in a little huddle to meet them. Six men, Remus saw, four of them in their sixties or older with greying hair. The other two were much younger, perhaps in their early twenties, one small and wiry, one tall and heavyset. All of them were tense, their wary expressions indicating that they expected trouble as much as Remus himself did.

All but the heavyset youth, Remus noted as they got closer. He was smiling with the open, innocent face of a child, the expression at odds with his massive frame. One of the older men stepped forward, holding out a hand. His smile was a practiced one; Remus would have thought it genuine, if not for the wolf's ability to read beneath the surface. When he spoke, Remus recognized his voice from the day before. The Reverend Simms. "Hello Leon... Ti." He nodded to Remus, including him in the greeting. "Anything I can do for you fellows this morning?"

Cujo took his time answering. He looked down at the minister's offered hand as though it were a piece of garbage. After a pause, Simms withdrew it and simply stood waiting, maintaining his dignity with a calm that Remus admired.

"You got your tent on the wrong side of the road, preacher. It's going to be in the way."

"We've always pitched the tent here on this side, Leon. Martin has never had any problem with it."

"Martin ain't here, now is he?" Cujo rocked back on his heels, his expression smug. "I speak for the boss when he ain't around. You and your boys are just going to have to take your tent down. Move it to the other side of the road."

"I'd like to talk with Martin about it first," Simms said mildly. "Perhaps you misunderstood his instructions—"

Cujo moved with the inhuman speed of the wolf. One huge hand closed over the minister's shoulder. Cujo leaned down, his face just inches away from the older man's, and bared his teeth. "Perhaps you misunderstood me," he growled. "I said, take your tent down. Now."

Simms glanced over at the scarred hand gripping his shoulder, then looked up and met Cujo's eyes calmly. "Very well, Leon. We certainly wouldn't want to do anything to show ingratitude for your family's hospitality." The older men turned back to their tent, resigned to the pointless task of dismantling it on Cujo's whim.

"Come along, son."

One of the men took hold of the big youth's arm to lead him away, but he hung back, scanning the stranger's faces before looking to his father. "We got to take down the tent? Why, dad?"

"Never mind. Come along."

The other young man spoke up. "'Cause some folks need to push others around, Richard." His eyes raked over the werewolves with scorn, including Remus in his indictment. "Makes them feel important, I guess."

Richard's father broke in quickly. "Stop it, Denathan! Don't mind the boy, Mr. Jeansson—"

"Don't kowtow to him! 'Don't mind the boy, Mr. Jeansson'," Denathan mimicked the old man's words, then spat, "_Mister_ Jeansson, my ass. Do you know what everyone calls him around town? They call him Cujo, 'cause he's nothing but a rabid dog!"

"That's right." Cujo's eyes were bright with malice. "But I'm meaner and crazier than any rabid dog. You lookin' for a fight? Good, 'cause you're gettin' one."

The humid air was filled with the scents of anger and fear. The men had all turned back to hover around the scene. As if in slow motion, Remus took note of the Reverend Simms raising his hands in a placating gesture as Richard's father reached for the two combatants as if to separate them. Cujo snarled, his aggressive posture strangely at odds with his scent, which was indicating contentment... Pleasure. _He's enjoying this,_ Remus thought. He knew the violent werewolf wouldn't hesitate to injure any of the humans. Was he mad enough to kill?

Waylon grabbed his arm as he moved in to intervene. "Leave it alone. Just leave it alone," he muttered. The omega's shame and fear added another layer to the reek assaulting Remus' nostrils.

Denathan raised his fists defiantly and Cujo let out a mocking bark of laughter. Everyone else seemed frozen in place, painfully aware that Cujo could break the young man in two. Instead, he turned away dismissively. "Nah, this little faggot ain't worth my time." He bared his teeth in an ugly grin. "Maybe I should pick on somebody more my own size." He sprang toward Richard and pushed him hard in the chest. The big youth stumbled but didn't fall. Cujo started to circle him like a wolf bringing down prey. He laughed as the young man blinked in bewilderment as he tried to regain his balance.

"What did I do?" Richard asked plaintively. "What did I do?"

"Put your fists up, you retard," Cujo began, but Remus had shaken off his inertia along with Waylon's restraining hand.

"That's enough," he said quietly. He caught Cujo's hand in his before he could push Richard again. Cujo's eyes blazed with rage and he lunged for Remus' throat.

"Here comes Martin," Waylon cried.

His voice was filled with relief; the same relief that washed over Remus as Cujo instantly backed down. Martin's car rolled to a stop behind Waylon's parked truck. The alpha male crossed the stretch of field casually and greeted the Reverend Simms with a handshake. "Is anything wrong, gentlemen?" he asked mildly.

"Nothing at all, Mr. Croteau," Simms said with a smile. "It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?"

Behind Martin's back, Cujo shot Remus a look of pure hatred.

————————

_Croteau Brothers Carnival, Bayou Gabriel, Louisiana, July 20, 1997_

Waylon and Remus rode back to the carnival grounds in silence, followed by Cujo and Martin in Martin's car. The younger man was clearly ashamed of his behavior in the field, but Remus felt that he could hardly blame him for his lack of action. Standing up to Cujo would have been nothing but a lesson in humiliation—a very painful lesson, if not for Martin's timely arrival. Remus doubted if anyone other than Martin could exert any control over the man. He was barely human! Perhaps his sister, Odalie, was able to have some sort of calming influence...

Waylon seemed to perk up as they passed through the wooden fence and the woman in question came into view. "Odalie's got your sign done," he told Remus as he parked the truck and hopped down from the cab with his usual enthusiasm. "Let's have a look."

Remus followed with bemusement and a certain amount of trepidation. The iron cages looming on either side still made his stomach clench. He realized what Waylon meant by 'your sign' when he glanced up at them and saw that each cage had a garishly-colored signboard mounted on its roof. They'd parked in front of the cage labeled _Leon "Cujo" Jeansson—The Ragin' Cajun_. Remus grimaced; an eighth cage had been pulled into position next to Cujo's.

Odalie was adding wisps of fog to the scene on the signboard leaning against the side of the new, unmarked cage while several men stood by impatiently. Her smile was shy as she stepped back so he could see. Depictions of some of Muggle London's more prominent landmarks—The tower of Big Ben, Nelson's Column at Trafalgar Square, and Buckingham Palace—framed the words _Remus Lupin—the Werewolf of London _painted against the background of the Union Jack.

"It's gaudy, isn't it? That's the carnival style." Odalie's voice and scent both betrayed her nervousness. "And I'm sure you're going to tell me that you aren't from London..."

"Born and raised there, actually." Remus smiled down at her. "And I don't think it's gaudy at all. It's charming." The cage might turn his stomach, but he wouldn't dream of saying anything negative to Odalie. Looking closer at the sign, he saw that she'd altered the familiar bronze lions at the base of Nelson's Column—they were now unmistakably wolves. That prompted a genuine smile. Odalie seemed to have been waiting for his approval, for now she waved to the workers.

Remus walked over to the side of the cage as the men began hauling the heavy sign into place. It loomed over him on its wheeled trailer, leaving the floor of the cage just a few inches below his eye level. It was dusty, giving the air of being long unused, little drifts of leaves piled in the corners. Martin's quiet voice interrupted his inspection. "The cage is not clean."

"We've been busy, had two rides break down last night and..." Remus turned slightly to watch out of the corner of his eye as the workman made his excuses.

Martin waited with apparent patience until the man finally ran down. "Please see to it that the cage is cleaned immediately."

"I'll get Matt to sweep it out later today."

Remus caught a whiff of Martin's anger, still rigidly controlled. "That wasn't what I asked, John," he said softly. Apparently becoming aware of Remus' covert scrutiny, he turned abruptly and met Remus' eyes.

"I'm sure it will be fine as it is—" Remus began. Martin's cold gaze stopped the words in his throat.

"Whatever Matt is doing can wait, John," Martin said over his shoulder. "Get him over here now and get that cage scrubbed. I want it spotless." His voice remained soft, but his disapproval was clear.

"Yes sir, Mr. Croteau," John replied, chastened.

"Thank you." Martin's eyes remained locked on Remus as the man hurried away. Remus felt the wolf within roll over and expose its throat. He maintained the eye contact only with difficulty. Surprisingly, Martin was the first to look away. He stared at the cage in silence for several long moments. When he spoke again, his voice was the merest whisper, so soft that even the other werewolves, standing just feet away, couldn't overhear. "Somebody taught you that you were less than human, didn't they, Mr. Lupin?" Remus was at a loss for words. "It's a lie," Martin hissed fiercely. "Even when you're locked up in a cage—even then! _It's a lie_."

He turned and walked away before Remus could respond.

————————

Author's notes: A big thank you to Badr, Kaori7395, SilverTrinity, Sennica01, and muchado2 for the questions, comments, and encouragement!

Rest assured, I'll be getting back to Al Dixon (and his family, eek!) in the next chapter or so. Have managed to sell our house, buy a new one, and move into it, so maybe, just maybe, now I'll have some time to write.

**To Kaori7395:** Hope you get internet access again soon!

**To SilverTrinity: ** Thanks, Waylon is kind of my favorite.

**To muchado2:** Yikes, I knew somebody familiar with Lafayette Parish would read this. Now I remember you dated one of those Louisiana werewolves. That probably subconsciously inspired this story—a dubious distinction if there ever was one! I shy away from doing dialects unless I believe I can do them well, which is, basically, never. (Suzanne's accent, based on Fleur Delacour's, makes me pull my hair out in clumps!)

As far as parallels between the current sections and the flashbacks, well, originally there were, but the more I revise, the muddier things seem to get.


	18. Another Cage

_Hogwarts Library, May 7, 1978 (Seventh Year at Hogwarts)_

Miranda brushed a lock of curly hair out of her eyes and scanned the Transfiguration text. "Why does the Ministry of Magic monitor all attempted animagus transformations?" she asked.

_Because otherwise, people would get up to all sorts of mischief, consorting with Dark Beasts and running about the Forbidden Forest every full moon_, Remus thought, suppressing a chuckle. He plucked the book from her hands and leaned in for a lingering kiss. "I've been over all this with Peter and James," he told Miranda when they finally broke apart. "If I don't know it by now, I never will."

"Fine then, you can quiz me on Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Remus pulled the textbook out of his satchel and flipped to a page toward the back of the book. "Name the three Unforgivable Curses."

"_Imperius, Cruciatus_, and the Killing Curse," Miranda recited promptly. "_Avada Kedavra_," she mused. "We've been sheltered from everything, here at Hogwarts. Out in the real world, these curses are more than just words on paper."

"The _Daily Prophet_ reports more deaths and disappearances every week," Remus agreed. "The Ministry can't cover them all up any longer."

"The Ministry seems so disorganized," Miranda said. "I don't believe they can protect any of us. You-Know-Who is just too powerful."

"We'll be all right," Remus said confidently. "We've got Dumbledore. He's started a group to fight Voldemort. As soon as we graduate, James and Peter and Sirius and I are going to join them."

"Don't talk that way, Remus! Sirius Black and James Potter might be idiots, but you're smarter than that. Doddering old professors and boys just out of school against the Dark Lord and his followers? It would be a massacre."

"Well, someone has to take a stand," Remus argued, more than a little hurt at her assessment of Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix.

She pulled away and began shoving texts and notebooks into her satchel. "You're such a Gryffindor, convinced that honor and valor will win the day." Miranda's voice softened and she set the bookbag aside to lean into his embrace. "I don't know," she whispered against his shoulder. "Sometimes I think it's inevitable that You-Know-Who will win. It just isn't worth it to even try and fight him."

"How can you say that, Miranda? How can you even think it?"

"Remus, you're hurting me."

Remus realized that he was gripping her arms tightly, unconsciously using the unnatural strength he was normally so careful to conceal. Miranda's wand was aimed at him; she was prepared to defend herself. He let go of her, instantly chagrined. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry..."

"I'm all right." She lowered her wand and leaned against him. Remus wrapped his arms around her gently and stroked her hair. "I'm just so afraid," she murmured. "Aren't you?"

"No," Remus said with bravado. "We will win, Miranda." He pulled her closer and met her eyes intently. "Please, don't ever talk like that again."

"I won't. I'll be brave... As long as you're with me?"

"Always," Remus promised her.

They closed their eyes and shared one last kiss before she pulled away. "Always," Miranda echoed. Her smile lingered in his mind long after she'd slipped out of their hiding place.

———————

_Odalie Jeannson's residence, Bayou Gabriel, Louisiana, July 20, 1997_

Remus relaxed in the wicker chair on the back porch and closed his eyes, trying to lull the restless wolf within to sleep for a few minutes. His attempted nap was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle coming down the driveway. Not Waylon's truck, nor Suzanne's car, he noted. The varying sounds of the Muggle conveyances had already become familiar. Remus remembered that the rest of the werewolves would be arriving at Bayou Gabriel throughout the day. Car doors slammed and an angry voice cried out, "Don't you talk that way to me, girl!" The light patter of running feet accompanied the protesting sound of Odalie's front screen door being yanked open. Curious, he rose to his feet and entered the house through the kitchen door.

"Odalie! We're here—" She stopped abruptly on the other side of the kitchen, startled.

He took in a quick impression of a coltish young girl, no more than fifteen. Her hair hung in multitudes of beaded braids. "Odalie is in her studio," he began, taking a step forward to greet the newcomer. A rush of primitive emotion overwhelmed him as she wavered on the threshold. _Mine_, the wolf within growled, insistent. _Come to me, yield to me. You are mine... Mine._

Remus blinked. Inexplicably, he found himself in the center of the kitchen, clutching the girl to his chest. One of his hands was tangled in her braids, the other at the small of her back, supporting her weight as she pressed eagerly against him. Rational thought returned in a roil of shame and confusion and he set the child back on her feet, gently prying her fingers apart where she'd laced them together behind his neck in a frenzied embrace. Her dark eyes remained unfocused for a long moment and he was forced to hold on to her for fear she'd fall to the floor. After an agonizing interval the girl blinked up at him, wide eyes suddenly becoming lucid once more, her face mirroring his own shock and dismay before she sprang back and blundered out of the room.

Somehow he managed to stagger back onto the porch and slump into a chair. Remus put his face in his hands. His head was spinning from the sudden onslaught of desire—desire replaced just as quickly by horror and self-disgust. _Monster_, he berated the wolf within. Never had he come so close to succumbing to the animal lust of the Beast.

Feminine voices raised in anger broke into his recriminations, finally subsiding as Odalie's soothing Cajun drawl intervened. He recognized her footsteps as she left the two new arrivals and made her way into the kitchen and out onto the porch. Remus kept his eyes averted even as he drew several deep breaths to calm himself. With the wolf's innate ability to read emotions, Odalie would know exactly what had transpired.

To his relief, her scent held neither anger nor condemnation, though her voice was low and filled with embarrassment. "Remus, I'm so sorry. That was..." There was a long silence. "Well, you just met Janae Dixon." Odalie gave a nervous cough.

"Miss Dixon also suffers from lycanthropy, I presume," Remus said dryly. He'd managed to recover his usual aplomb by thinking of the child in terms of a Defense Against the Dark Arts specialist analyzing an unfamiliar magical creature.

"I-I intended to warn you," Odalie stammered. Her voice trailed off.

Remus could feel the heat of her embarrassment from five feet away, but his reaction was one of annoyance rather than sympathy. She could have spared them both the emotional turmoil if she'd simply explained the situation before the girl arrived. Knowing what to expect, he would never have lost control over the wolf within. "Did it not occur to you that you could be putting the child in harm's way?"

"I-I didn't expect Janae and her mother until this evening," Odalie whispered. She wrung her hands in distress. "Janae isn't quite herself at present. She's... Well, she's..."

Remus took pity on Odalie. "She's in estrus," he supplied, using the scientific term. He'd figured that much out for himself. "Dear god, please tell me that doesn't happen every month?"

"No, no, only once a year, just as it does for a natural wolf," Odalie said. "In the early spring, generally, for an adult..." It took the elderly woman a moment to be able to continue. "But Janae is just thirteen..." She coughed delicately. "Her wolf form, however, is fully mature."

_Well, it's a comfort to know that the wolf within isn't a pedophile_, Remus thought sarcastically. He reminded himself that the conversation was ultimately more upsetting to the elderly woman than it was to him. _Imagine trying to reconcile the_ _dichotomy between the refined manners of a genteel Southern lady_, he thought, _and the primal lusts of a wolf in heat! _The slightly incongruous image of Nymphadora Tonks sprang to mind, the last time he'd seen her—in an airport bar, laughing at his discomfort as she ordered him a 'Screaming Orgasm' cocktail. Odalie Jeansson was definitely the product of a much more reserved generation than Tonks.

Another image replaced Tonks' smiling face; the two rows of cages at the carnival. _Surely no one could be that cruel... _Remus took the elderly werwolf's hands between his. "Where will Janae transform?" he asked gently.

Instead of answering directly, Odalie gestured for Remus to stand. "Walk with me," she said. They set out across the yard at the older woman's halting pace. Soon a low brick outbuilding came into view, almost completely concealed by overgrown brush. "The cage inside was built back in my great-great-grandmother Marie-Celestine Croteau's time," Odalie said softly. "Suzanne will stay here with Janae during her transformation. One cannot control the dementia when one is, is..." Again, her voice trailed off.

"And I thought my adolescence was difficult."

"That phase of my life is long over, thank the good lord." Odalie stopped when they were still a good twenty feet away from the isolated little building, clearly reluctant to go any closer. "Please excuse me, Remus. I need to get back to the house before Grace and Janae tear one another apart."

Remus watched her make her laborious way back across the yard before he stepped up to the squat, windowless brick edifice. The door was oak, three inches thick and strapped with heavy iron bands. The hasps that would secure it during the full moon were pushed back, the padlocks dangling from them shiny and gleaming in odd contrast to the weathered planks. The door opened without a sound; Remus could smell the oil that had been recently put on the hinges.

Inside was a single cage, hand-crafted in a manner that hadn't been seen in the Muggle world for at least a century. A more modern double divider of machine-milled pipe had been added down the center, effectively making two small cages with enough space between them that the occupants would be unable to reach one another. Remus was pondering that—_why would they have to be separated?_—when a soft tread reached his ears. An unwelcome scent filled his nostrils as the light filtering in from outside was suddenly dimmed.

Remus whirled around; Cujo's massive bulk filled the door frame. He ducked his shaggy head to clear the lintel. "Told ya I'd deal with you later," he drawled.

———————

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts, May 10, 1978_ _(N.E.W.T.s week, seventh year at Hogwarts)_

"Pettigrew, Peter... Prosper, Miranda... Prosper, Miranda? Miss Prosper?" The examiner peered around the room myopically, Miranda's exam scroll dangling from his fingers.

One of the Slytherin girls raised her hand. "She's not here, sir," she said.

The examiner frowned. "She's not here? Are you saying she overslept?" he asked, scandalized.

"No sir, she left last night," Sylvia Stebbins called out. Veruka Jugson was nodding agreement.

"Highly irregular. Well, I'm sorry, but if Miss Prosper is not present by the time the last of these scrolls are handed out, she won't be allowed to take the exam." The Slytherins exchanged glances and shrugged.

Remus felt a tense knot of worry form in his stomach. _Where is she? Could she be sick? Wouldn't the other girls from her dormitory have said so if she were? _Irrationally, he thought of morning sickness. _That's impossible. We always use a Contraceptive Charm... _

"You may turn over your exam scrolls... now."

Remus made himself concentrate on the parchment in front of him. _There's nothing I can do about it now. I'll find Miranda after the exam. _

Three hours later, Remus was in a near panic. He'd finished the test and rushed to look for Miranda in the infirmary, but Madam Pomfrey was busy with a group of third years with scald wounds from a potions accident. Once it became clear to her that Remus was in no need of medical attention himself, she threw up her hands and hustled him out of the room. After borrowing James' invisibility cloak without permission, he checked the hospital wing himself to make sure Miranda wasn't there. She didn't show up for lunch, and if the Slytherins could be believed, she hadn't been seen since last night. Remus couldn't see any reason for them to lie. _No one skives off a N.E.W.T.,_ he thought desperately. _What's happened to her? _

There was nothing for it. It was time to take the practical portion of the Transfiguration N.E.W.T. As he entered the Great Hall to wait his turn, Remus scanned the room, hoping to see her. Again, he was disappointed. Peter Pettigrew met his eyes and gave him a nervous smile. Remus returned it as best he could. After the exam, past caring what anyone thought, he cornered Severus Snape in the hallway. "Miranda's gone missing, Snape. Any idea where she is?"

"If I did know, Lupin, I wouldn't tell _you_." As always when he looked at him, Snape's face was twisted with loathing.

Remus drew his wand. "You'd better tell me, Snape."

Snape didn't waste time arguing. _"Petrificus totalus!"_

"_Protego!" _Remus deflected the hex. "Where is she?"

"_Locomo_— "

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Snape's face contorted in rage as his wand was wrenched from his grasp by Sirius' spell, but was forced to back off as James and Peter moved to flank them both. "Got your back, Remus," Sirius said quietly from behind Remus, keeping his wand trained on Snape.

"Shall we flip him upside down and show everyone his drawers again, then?" James suggested.

"No!" _Dammit._ _He doesn't know. _"I have to see Professor Dumbledore."

Peter laid a hand on Remus' arm. "What's this all about, mate?" he asked, his eyes worried.

"I'll tell you later." Remus pushed through the crowd that had gathered and pelted down the corridor. When he reached the entrance to the headmaster's office, he was panting. "I don't know the password," he told the gargoyle frantically. "I have to see Professor Dumbledore. It's an emergency! It's me, Professor, Remus Lupin," he shouted. To his great relief, the stone statue turned aside, revealing the spiral staircase.

"Remus, what a nice surprise. Come on up," Dumbledore's voice called. Ignoring his wild-eyed look, the headmaster motioned to a chair. "N.E.W.T.s going well? Cup of tea?" he asked.

"Miranda Prosper's gone missing," Remus blurted. "No one has seen her since last night."

"I'm sorry, Remus. I didn't realize you two were friends. As I told the Slytherins, Miss Prosper left the school last night." Dumbledore's expression was grave, his eyes missing their habitual twinkle. "For good, I'm afraid."

"But... but no one leaves school during N.E.W.T.s," Remus said stupidly. He stared at the headmaster, trying to make sense of his words.

"Miranda's mother did not give me any details. Nor did she believe my assurances that her daughter would be safe here at Hogwarts." Dumbledore picked up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and handed it across the desk to him. "Perhaps this will help explain things," he said gently.

"Her mother? That can't be right... her parents are divorced. Miranda lives with her father..." He forced his eyes to focus on the newspaper article. _Ministry Raid on Home of Suspected Dark Wizard,_ read the headline, halfway down the second page. _Items confiscated... suspected follower of You-Know-Who... Tempest Prosper still at large, considered dangerous..._ the words leaped out at him. "Miranda wasn't... she wasn't like that! She wouldn't have anything to do with any of that," Remus said, bewildered.

"No, I suppose not." Dumbledore sighed. "I expect she and her mother have gone into hiding. More and more witches and wizards are being forced to, these days. I'm very sorry, Remus."

Remus clutched at a thread of hope. "Do you think she might send an owl?"

"I wouldn't take it too hard if she did not. Owls can be intercepted... Her mother seemed to feel they would be in danger. It would be very risky."

Remus descended the spiral stairs in a daze. James, Sirius, and Peter were waiting in the hallway. They looked up, the three faces mirroring concern. James spoke for all of them. "What's going on? So Snivellus' girlfriend's run off— what do you care?"

Remus looked from one to the others. _She'll send an owl,_ he thought. The hard knot in the pit of his stomach wasn't going to go away any time soon, he realized. _She can't just leave with no word. She'll send an owl._ He clung to that thought. Remus realized his three friends were still standing there, watching him, waiting. "It's a long story, Prongs," he began. Remus took a deep breath. "For starters, she's not Snape's girlfriend. She's mine."

———————

_Bayou Gabriel, Louisiana, July 20, 1997_

"Told ya I'd deal with you later." Cujo's scarred face split into an evil grin as he shut the oak door behind him. "Nobody gonna hear you scream, punk."

Pressed against the iron bars, Remus had no choice but to retreat into the divided cell behind him. He slammed the cage door, but Cujo batted it open effortlessly. Remus scrambled back as the bigger man sprang into the cage. He looked around desperately for a weapon, another way out, anything that would allow him to survive this encounter. _If I can just dodge past him... _

Cujo lunged, backing Remus into the far corner. His fist met air as Remus ducked low and sidestepped . Cujo leaped on top of him before he could make it to the door. Remus tried to roll out of the way, but the big werewolf was just too fast, too strong. He tucked his chin into his chest as Cujo's hands reached for his throat. _Thirty seconds_, Remus thought grimly as Cujo's thumbs pried at his neck, forcing his chin up. Once he succeeded in closing the air passage, thirty seconds was all the time Remus would have before he passed out. Remus pried futilely at the inhumanly strong fingers, gouged his own fingers toward Cujo's eyes. The tactics didn't work. The big man's hands closed around his throat.

Tiny red and gold sparks flew from Remus' fingertips, winking out harmlessly. Cujo grunted in surprise, then laughed cruelly. "That's your _magic,_ wizard?" He gave mocking emphasis to the words. "You think a few colored lights gonna save you now?"

Remus' vision was starting to blur. Already, his lungs were burning, his body starving for air. He scrabbled at the dirt floor of the cell, arching his back, trying to throw his attacker off. His hands flung back up of their own volition and another shower of sparks flew, bigger this time, landing on Cujo's shirt. The fabric began to smolder where each pinprick of flame struck.

This drew a different reaction. Cujo leaped to his feet in shock and backpedalled, batting at the magical red and gold flames as they licked at his shirt. Remus managed to rise to his knees. His head was spinning. He thought he heard Waylon's voice raised in alarm somewhere in the distance. Cujo flung open the door to the cell and blundered through, still beating at the remnants of his shirt front. Tatters of charred fabric fell to the floor. He turned back to snarl at Remus, still backing away, and banged his head against the top of the oak door frame with a dull thud.

The big werewolf fell to the floor just as Waylon opened the door. Waylon's jaw dropped at the sight; Cujo's eyes were rolled back in his head, his ruined shirt still smoking. Mike Turchenko's face appeared above the younger man's shoulder as he craned his neck to see into the room. "What happened?"

Eyes wide, Waylon pointed an accusing finger at Remus. "He killed him!"

———————

Author's note: I feel compelled to make sure we're all clear that nothing even remotely resembling romance occurred in Odalie's kitchen. And disturbing as the scene was, absolutely nothing more happened than what was described. As always, thanks for reading. As always, your comments, questions, and criticism are welcomed.


	19. A Happy Ending

Author's notes: Now that Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince has been published, this story is hopelessly AU (Alternate Universe) and I find myself completely uninterested in finishing it. Thank you to everyone who stuck with the story for eighteen chapters—or far more, if you endured the first draft. I've skipped ahead in the narrative to give you the happy ending with Miranda that I've always promised.

**

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**

_Roswell, New Mexico, September 30, 1997 _

Remus parked the lawnmower in the shed, then sat down gratefully on the back porch of the house near campus where he rented a room. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief, thinking of late September back at Hogwarts, where there would already be a chill in the air and the Whomping Willow would be shedding its leaves. Here in Roswell, the temperature was still... _Brutal_, Remus thought, though thankfully it wasn't as humid as it had been on Bayou Gabriel.

He was doing far better than he could ever have hoped for, three months ago. His magic was coming back, though slowly. _Slowly but steadily,_ he reminded himself. He'd spent July's full moon in a carnival cage in Louisiana, knowing that the stress of transformation in public would force more of the wild, uncontrolled magic to the surface. _No more of that, ever, _he thought with a chuckle, remembering the pack of American werewolves who'd kidnapped him, then ultimately accepted him as one of their own. The money Martin Croteau had insisted he'd earned for "performing" in the werewolf exhibit was one reason he'd decided he could afford decent housing. He'd moved out of a dingy transient hotel and into the clean, quiet rented room here at Mrs. Alva's house only a few days ago.

A little extra money, the stock of wolfsbane potions—he still had two bottles left—and a little bit of good luck... The president of Roswell University wasn't prejudiced against lycanthropes, an attitude that extended to most of the magical community around the college, enabling Remus to get a job as a janitor as soon as he'd arrived in town. Menial, low-paying work usually reserved for squibs, but Remus wasn't complaining. It would do until his magic was strong enough to return to Great Britain and rejoin the Order of the Phoenix.

September's full moon was two weeks behind him, and he was well on the way to recovery from his latest transformation. It was the time he liked best, the dark of the moon, when the wolf within was quiet.

His elderly landlady appeared at the screen door, levitating a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and two tall glasses filled with ice in front of her. "Thanks for mowing the yard, Remus," Mrs. Alva said. "I was paying a boy to do it, but I haven't heard from him in weeks." She lowered herself heavily into an old wooden rocker, sighing with relief once she was settled, and then gesturing for Remus to pour the lemonade for them both. "Teenagers these days... He 's probably too busy chasing after girls," she added good-naturedly.

Remus drew his new wand from his pocket and cast; just a simple charm to pour the drinks, but joy welled up inside him as the glasses filled and then floated through the air at his command. The wand was second-hand. He hadn't paid much for it, which was a good thing; already he could tell that it wasn't going to be satisfactory for major spellwork. It didn't matter. The wand would do to practice with, while his magic returned to full strength. Just the thrill of being able to cast again made the investment worth it.

Mrs. Alva chuckled. "You're mighty pleased with that old wand, aren't you?"

"You've no idea how wonderful it is to have my magic back," he told her.

They sat and sipped their drinks in companionable silence until a car pulled in next door, hidden from view by the high wooden fence between the two properties. The landlady looked up with sudden interest. "You have to meet the neighbors," she said, heaving herself to her feet and waddling toward the wooden gate leading to the alley.

Remus glanced down at his rumpled work clothes, now stained with oil from wrestling with the unfamiliar Muggle lawnmower. "I'm really not dressed to meet—"

"Nonsense."

She was already opening the gate. Mrs. Alva was elderly and overweight and normally moved with the ponderous gait of a mountain troll, but apparently she could be speedy when she wanted to be. Remus shrugged and followed her, resigned to making a poor first impression.

"Yoo-hoo, Randi, I want you to meet my new tenant," Mrs. Alva was trilling.

"Just let me get this car seat unfastened..." A woman was bent over the back seat of a compact car, struggling with something Remus couldn't see. A little girl, no more than three or four, clung to her pants leg and watched him solemnly. "_Alohomora!_ Finally!" The woman laughed, a husky sound, quickly stifled.

Remus' heart caught in his throat. _No, it couldn't be._

She turned and stood upright, tossing dark, curly hair over one shoulder, holding a baby in her arms. Her face mirrored his own shock as she caught sight of him. "Remus Lupin..." she breathed.

"Remus Lupin," Mrs. Alva echoed, oblivious, "meet my neighbor, Miranda Nero."

"Miranda."

Mrs. Alva's voice twittering, finally aware that something unusual was going on. The little girl, tugging at her mother's shirt, asking a question. The baby, turning her head sleepily to lean against Miranda's shoulder: for a moment, everyone else faded into the background, and there were just the two of them, face to face after twenty long years. She reached out and caught Remus' hand, her fingers strangely cool in the stifling heat of the afternoon.

"You're alive!" He was never sure, afterward, who had said it... perhaps they'd both said the words at the same time.

"Mama, who is it? I don't know that man." The little girl's voice broke the spell. She stared up at Remus, a miniature Miranda, dark brows drawn down in a frown.

"This is... an old friend, from long ago, Sarah."

Remus felt the cold, hollow ache fill his chest, as though his magic had never returned. The children. The married name that had just registered from Mrs. Alva's introduction. _Miranda Nero. Of course. _It had been years. She would have gone on with her life, as he had. He forced himself to smile at the child. "Your daughters are beautiful, Miranda." _Just like their mother. _"Your husband must be a very happy man."

The wolf within was quiet, but he could hear the bitterness in her laugh as she shepherded little Sarah toward the house. "Run and put your backpack on the porch, sweetie. I'll be right along." Turning back to Remus, she said in a low voice, "Happy isn't quite the word for it. We divorced just before Sophie was born."

Remus read the question in Miranda's eyes. He held out his grubby, oil-stained hands, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

Miranda grinned back. "Still an eligible bachelor, I see."

Mrs. Alva turned away with the stately pace of an ocean liner making its way through heavy seas. "You two must have a lot to catch up on. I'll leave the back door unlocked, Remus."

**

* * *

**

_Roswell, New Mexico, October 12, 1997 _

"_Expelliarmus!_"

"_Protego._" Remus deflected the spell with a lazy flick of his second-hand wand. His opponent's face fell. "You're doing really well, Mike," he hastened to reassure the young man. "Remember, before the full moon I have a distinct advantage over normal wizards."

"Faster reflexes," Mike said, resigned. "I know, I know." He brightened. "Professor Klein said my essay on lycanthropy was... inspired."

"I'm honored," Remus said dryly. He caught the sound of Miranda's car pulling off the boulevard two streets away and pocketed his wand. "Next week, same time?"

Mike grinned and shouldered his backpack. "Wouldn't miss it, Professor."

Glancing around the back yard, Remus quickly pulled out his wand again and repaired a broken lawn chair. Satisfied that there was no other damage left from the practice duel, he slipped through the fence and made it to Miranda's driveway in time to unbuckle Sophie's balky car seat.

"How's the tutoring coming along?" Miranda asked.

"Wonderfully," Remus told her, noting the tension behind the casual question. Tutoring meant extra money, money she knew he was saving for the trip home.

He suppressed a sigh of frustration. Finding Miranda alive and well—and single—after two decades had been nothing short of a miracle. That first night, they'd stayed up for hours, just catching up on one another's lives. Since then, they'd managed to spend a good deal of time together in spite of her busy work schedule. It had come as no surprise to Remus to find that she'd made a career of Potions brewing.

Still, something was wrong... The wolf within could sense it, even if neither of them were willing to admit it. The romance hadn't rekindled, even though Remus could tell Miranda was still as attracted to him as he was to her. Well, that was certainly understandable; she'd gone through a divorce less than a year ago, and with two small children, he could accept that she wouldn't want to rush into anything. After all, it had been less than two weeks since they'd been reunited.

Remus followed her into the kitchen, set Sophie in her high chair, and conjured the Chinese take-out he'd bought earlier onto the table.

"Dinner! What a great surprise," Miranda exclaimed. She started to reach out to him, then thought better of it and retreated to the fridge to pour a juice into sippy cups for the girls.

"It's nothing special," Remus demurred, once again supressing his frustration. What was it that kept coming between them?

Miranda kept her voice light and casual, even though he could read the subtle wrongness, filling the air with tension. "Compared to the cold cereal Sarah and I were going to eat? Yes it is." She conjured a bowl of baby food and cast a warming spell on it for Sophie.

Dinner gave way to bath time for the little girls. Miranda had given him his cue to leave, but Remus lingered in the kitchen long after the empty cartons of Chinese food had been banished and the dishes magically washed and put away. When Miranda returned from putting her daughters to bed, he pulled out a chair for her at the little kitchen table.

"It's late, Remus. Sophie has a check-up, and I've got a big batch of burn-healing paste to brew tomorrow. It's going to be a busy day."

"This won't take long," he murmured, sitting down across from her. "We've never talked about what happened, back during N.E.W.T.s week, when you left Hogwarts." His voice was calm, but inside his heart was racing. The truth was, he was afraid of driving her away. _You left without a single word... No note, no owl, nothing._

Miranda tensed. "Does it really matter? My mother pulled me out of school in the middle of the night. Nothing Dumbledore said could persuade her; my father had been arrested." Her mouth twisted, a bitter expression. "I still don't believe that he was a Death Eater..."

Remus wasn't about to argue with her. Remembering Sirius Black, he could admit the possibility that Tempest Prosper had been innocent. But it wasn't Miranda's father he was concerned with. "What happened next?" he asked softly, keeping his emotions under control. The wolf within could smell the tension in the air... Shame and a whiff of fear... and resentment, for some reason. _Why? You're the one who abandoned me. _

"We left Great Britain with the clothes on our backs," Miranda said. "Mother thought she had it all planned. Here in the United States, we'd be safe from You-Know-Who. She'd enroll me in school and I could complete my education." She paused. "Poor Mother. She lived in a fantasy world, where being pureblood and attractive meant that no one could deny you anything. The reality was, we were penniless, with no connections and no chance at a new life unless we made our own way. Mother just couldn't cope. She'd never worked a day in her life. She tried," Miranda said loyally. "She really tried... Finally, I had to quit school and work to support us both. I was only seventeen, Remus!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." _ I had no way of knowing— _

She stood, interrupting his thoughts. Her resentment washed over him, a torrent, drowning out his own annoyance. "I ran away, like a cowardly Slytherin. I guess you were too disappointed in me to even open my letter."

He gaped up at her, stunned at the unfairness of the accusation. "You never wrote! Not a single word—"

"I saved for weeks to afford a transatlantic owl! You never wrote back—"

"I never got the letter." He rose and moved around the table to take hold of her shoulders, gently turning her to face him. "Miranda, owls were being intercepted right and left in those days. Your letter never got through... I never knew if you were dead or alive."

Her breath caught in her throat. "You always said we had to be brave... To fight against You-Know... Against Voldemort, no matter what the odds were against us. You were never afraid!"

"And you thought I had judged you, because your Mother took you into hiding." Remus wrapped his arms around her, grateful when she didn't resist the embrace. "Miranda, I was an idiot. A dumb kid, full of bravado. I had no idea what I was talking about." He chuckled ruefully. "Once I got out of school and saw some real action in the war, I was terrified."

"I don't believe you." Her voice was muffled against his chest.

"Believe me." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "My first battle with Death Eaters, I swear, I wet myself."

"You did not!" All the anger was gone as she looked up at him with eyes over-bright. He could smell the salt of the tears that were threatening to spill... or maybe those were his own tears. The scent mingled with something else... Dark chocolate. "You're such a Gryffindor," Miranda teased.

Remus grinned at the familiar taunt. _Guilty as charged, _but he didn't say the words out loud; he was already too busy kissing her.

**

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**

The first light of dawn was filtering through the window blinds when Remus slipped out of the bed, dropping a last, gentle kiss on Miranda's forehead. To his surprise, she sat up, wide awake.

"You'll be going back soon, won't you?"

He knew what she meant: To Great Britain, to the war. "I have to." Remus didn't hesitate to ask the question that formed in his mind; he was already sure of her answer. "Miranda, I hope you'll wait for me."

"No." She pulled him back down beside her. "Oh, don't look so stricken! Of course I'll wait for you, if that's what it takes. But I don't want to wait. Voldemort has already stolen too many of the years we could have had together." Miranda faltered just a bit at the name Voldemort, but then went on resolutely. "I've made up my mind. When you go back, I'm going with you."

"Have you really thought it through?" he asked slowly. "It will be very dangerous... Even for Sarah and Sophie. I can't guarantee that they'll be safe."

"I know. But if Voldemort wins, they'll never be safe, no matter how far we might run. I've thought about it, Remus, and I'm sure. No matter what, I want us to be together."

"Always," Remus promised her.

"Always," Miranda echoed. This time, they both knew for sure that it was true.


End file.
